THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


H  A  N I  A. 


Henry k  Sienkiewicf  and  his  daughter  Yadviga. 


H  A  N  I  A. 


BY 


HENRYK   SIENKIEWICZ, 

AUTHOR  OF   "QUO  VADIS,"    "  WITH  FIRE  AND  SWORD," 
"THE  DELUGE,"  "CHILDREN  OF  THE  SOIL,"  ETC. 


TRANSLATED    FROM   THE   POLISH    BY 

JEREMIAH   CURTIN. 


BOSTON: 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY. 

1897. 


Copyright,  1897, 
BY  JEREMIAH  CURTIN. 


All  rights  reserved. 


SHtotomsttg 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.  S.  A. 


College 
library 


7/53 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PROLOGUE  TO  HAXIA  :   THE  OLD  SERVANT 3 

HANIA 21 

TARTAR  CAPTIVITY 171 

LET  Us  FOLLOW  HIM 219 

BE  THOU  BLESSED 259 

AT  THE  SOURCE 265 

CHARCOAL  SKETCHES     291 

THE  ORGANIST  OF  PONIKLA 375 

Lux  IN  TENEBRIS  LUCET 387 

ON  THE  BRIGHT  SHORE 401 

THAT  THIRD  WOMAN    .                                                             ,  483 


688691 


HANIA. 


H  A  N  I  A, 


PROLOGUE. 

THE  OLD  SERVANT. 

BESIDES  old  managers,  overseers,  and  foresters  there 
is  another  type  of  man  which  is  disappearing 
more  and  more  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  —  the  old 
servant. 

During  my  childhood,  as  I  remember,  my  parents  were 
served  by  one  of  those  mammoths.  After  those  mam- 
moths there  will  soon  be  only  bones  in  old  cemeteries, 
in  strata  thickly  covered  with  oblivion;  from  time  to 
time  investigators  will  dig  them  out.  This  old  servant 
was  called  Mikolai  Suhovolski ;  he  was  a  noble  from  the 
noble  village  of  Suha  Vola,  which  he  mentioned  often  in 
his  stories.  He  came  to  my  father  from  my  grandfather 
of  sacred  memory,  with  whom  he  was  an  orderly  in  the 
time  of  the  Napoleonic  wars.  He  did  not  himself  re- 
member accurately  when  he  began  service  with  my 
grandfather;  when  he  was  asked  for  the  date,  he  took 
snuff,  and  answered,  — 

"  Yes,  I  was  then  without  mustaches,  and  the  colonel, 
God  light  his  soul,  was  still  very  young." 

In  the  house  of  my  parents  he  fulfilled  the  most 
varied  duties :  he  was  butler ;  he  was  body-servant ;  in 
summer  he  went  to  the  harvest  fields  in  the  r6le  of  over- 


4  THE  OLD   SERVANT. 

seer,  in  winter  to  the  threshing  ;  he  kept  the  keys  of  the 
vodka  room,  the  cellar,  the  granary;  he  wound  up  the 
clocks  ;  but  above  all  he  kept  the  house  in  order. 

I  do  not  remember  this  man  otherwise  than  scolding. 
He  scolded  my  father,  he  scolded  my  mother ;  I  feared 
him  as  fire,  though  I  liked  him.  In  the  kitchen  he 
worked  off  a  whole  breviary  on  the  cook,  he  pulled  the 
pantry  boys  by  the  ears  through  the  house,  and  never 
was  he  content  with  anything.  Whenever  he  got  tipsy, 
which  happened  once  a  week,  all  avoided  him,  not  be- 
cause he  permitted  himself  to  have  words  with  his 
master  or  mistress,  but  because  whenever  he  fastened  on 
any  one,  he  followed  that  person  all  day,  nagging  and 
scolding  without  end. 

During  dinner,  he  stood  behind  my  father's  chair,  and, 
though  he  did  not  serve,  he  watched  the  man  who  served, 
and  poisoned  life  for  him  with  a  most  particular  passion. 

"  Take  care,  take  care  ! "  muttered  he,  "  or  I  will  take 
care  of  thee.  Look  at  him!  he  cannot  serve  quickly, 
but  drags  his  legs  after  him,  like  an  old  cow  on  the 
march.  Take  care  again !  He  does  not  hear  that  his 
master  is  calling.  Change  her  plate  for  the  lady.  Why 
art  thou  gaping?  Why  ?  Look  at  him  !  look  at  him  !" 

He  interfered  in  conversation  carried  on  at  table,  and 
opposed  everything  always.  Frequently  it  happened 
that  my  father  would  turn  during  dinner  and  say  to 
him,  — 

"  Mikolai,  tell  Mateush  after  dinner  to  harness  the 
horses  ;  we  will  drive  to  such  and  such  a  place.'* 

"  Drive  !  why  not  drive  ?  Oi  yei !  But  are  not  horses 
for  driving  ?  Let  the  poor  horses  break  their  legs  on 
such  a  road.  If  there  is  a  visit  to  be  made,  it  must  be 
made.  Of  course  their  lordships  are  free ;  do  I  prevent 
them  ?  I  do  not  prevent.  Why  not  visit  ?  The  ac- 


THE   OLD   SERVANT.  5 

counts  can  wait,  and  the  threshing  can  wait.  The  visit 
is  more  urgent." 

"  It  is  a  torment  with  this  Mikolai ! "  shouted  my 
father  sometimes,  made  impatient. 

But  Mikolai  began  again,  — 

"  Do  I  say  that  I  am  not  stupid  ?  I  know  that  I  am 
stupid.  The  manager  has  gone  to  pay  court  to  the 
priest's  housekeeper  in  Nyevodov,  and  why  shouldn't 
masters  go  on  visits  ?  Is  a  visit  less  important  than 
paying  court  to  a  housekeeper  ?  If  't  is  permitted  to  the 
servant  to  go,  it  is  permitted  to  the  master." 

And  thus  it  went  on  in  a  circle  without  means  of 
stopping  the  old  grumbler. 

We,  that  is,  I  and  my  younger  brother,  feared  him,  as 
I  have  said,  almost  more  than  our  tutor  Father  Ludvik, 
and  surely  more  than  our  parents.  He  was  more  polite 
toward  my  sisters.  He  said  "  Panienka " l  to  each  of 
them,  though  they  were  younger  than  we ;  but  to  us  he 
said  "  thou  "  without  ceremony.  For  me  he  had  a 
special  charm :  he  always  carried  gun  caps  in  his  pocket. 
It  happened  often  that  after  lessons  I  would  slip  into 
the  pantry,  smile  as  nicely  as  I  could,  be  as  friendly  as 
possible,  and  say  timidly,  — 

"  Mikolai !  A  good  day  to  Mikolai.  Will  Mikolai 
clean  pistols  to-day  ? " 

"  What  does  Henryk  want  here  ?  I  '11  get  ready  a 
dish-cloth,  that  is  all." 

Then  he  would  mock  me,  saying,  - 

"  '  Mikolai !  Mikolai  ! '  When  gun  caps  are  wanted, 
Mikolai  is  good,  and  when  not,  let  the  wolves  eat  him. 
Thou  wouldst  do  better  to  study ;  thou  'It  never  gain 
wit  from  shooting." 

"  I  have  finished  my  lessons,"  said  I,  half  crying. 

1  Lord's  daughter,  or  young  lady. 


6  THE   OLD    SERVANT. 

"  Finished  his  lessons  !  Hum  !  finished.  He  is 
studying  and  studying,  but  his  head  is  like  an  empty 
canister.  I  won't  give  caps,  and  that's  the  end  of 
it."  (While  talking,  he  searched  through  his  pockets.) 
"  But  if  the  cap  goes  into  his  eye,  Mikolai  will  catch  it. 
Who  is  to  blame  ?  Mikolai.  Who  let  the  boy  shoot  ? 
Mikolai." 

Scolding  in  this  fashion,  he  went  to  my  father's 
room,  took  down  the  pistols,  blew  the  dust  off  them, 
declared  a  hundred  times  more  that  all  this  was  not 
worth  a  deuce  ;  then  he  lighted  a  candle,  put  a  cap  on 
the  nipple  of  the  pistol,  and  let  me  aim.  Meanwhile  I 
had  often  to  bear  heavy  crosses. 

"  How  the  boy  holds  the  pistol ! "  said  he.  "  Hum  ! 
like  a  barber.  How  couldst  thou  quench  a  candle,  unless 
as  an  old  man  quenches  it  in  church  ?  Thou  shouldst  be 
a  priest  to  repeat  Hail  Marys,  and  not  be  a  soldier." 

In  his  own  way  he  taught  us  his  military  art  of  other 
days.  Often  after  dinner  I  and  my  brother  learned  to 
march  under  his  eye,  and  with  us  marched  Father  Lud- 
vik,  who  marched  very  ridiculously. 

Then  Mikolai  looked  at  him  with  a  frown,  and,  though 
he  feared  the  priest  more  than  any  one,  he  could  not  re- 
strain himself. 

"  Hei !  "  said  he,  "  but  his  grace  marches  just  like  an 
old  cow." 

I,  as  the  elder,  was  oftener  under  his  command,  so 
I  suffered  most.  But  when  I  was  sent  to  school  old 
Mikolai  cried  as  if  the  greatest  misfortune  had  happened. 
My  father  and  mother  said  that  he  became  more  peevish, 
and  annoyed  them  two  weeks. 

"  They  took  the  child  and  carried  him  away,"  said  he. 
"  And  if  he  dies  !  Uu !  u  !  But  what  does  he  want  of 
schools?  Isn't  he  the  heir?  Will  he  study  Latin? 


THE  OLD   SERVANT.  7 

They  want  to  turn  him  into  a  Solomon.  What  folly ! 
The  child  has  gone  off,  gone  off,  and  crawl,  thou  old  man, 
into  corners  and  look  for  what  thou  hast  not  lost.  The 
deuce  knows  why  'tis  done." 

I  remember  when  I  came  home  for  the  first  holidays. 
All  in  the  house  were  sleeping  yet.  It  was  just  dawning ; 
the  morning  was  cold  and  snowy.  The  squeaking  of  the 
well-sweep  in  the  farm-yard  and  the  barking  of  dogs  in- 
terrupted the  silence.  The  blinds  of  the  house  were 
closed,  but  the  windows  in  the  kitchen  were  gleaming 
with  a  bright  light  which  gave  a  rosy  color  to  the  snow 
near  the  wall.  I  had  come  home  tired  and  gloomy  with 
fear  in  my  soul,  since  the  first  rank  which  I  had  received 
was  nothing  in  particular.  This  happened  because  I  was- 
helpless  till  I  had  found  my  place,  till  I  had  grown  ac- 
customed to  routine  and  school  discipline.  I  feared  my 
father ;  I  feared  the  severe,  silent  face  of  the  priest,  who 
had  brought  me  from  Warsaw.  There  was  no  consolation 
from  any  side.  At  last  I  saw  the  door  of  the  kitchen 
open  and  old  Mikolai,  with  his  nose  red  from  cold,  wad- 
ing through  the  snow  with  pots  of  steaming  cream  on 
a  tray.  When  he  saw  me  he  cried,  — 

"  Oh,  golden  Panich  !  my  dearest ! " 

And  then  he  put  down  the  tray  quickly,  turned  over  both 
pots,  caught  me  around  the  neck  and  began  to  press  and 
kiss  me.  Thenceforward  he  always  called  me  Panich. 

For  two  entire  weeks  after  that  he  could  not  forgive 
me  that  cream :  "  A  man  is  carrying  cream  for  himself 
quietly,  and  the  boy  comes  along.  He  picked  out  his 
hour  accurately,"  etc. 

My  father  was  going  to  flog  me,  or  at  least  he  promised 
to  do  so,  because  of  the  two  moderate  marks  which  I  had 
brought,  one  for  penmanship,  the  other  for  German  ;  but 
my  tears  and  promises  of  improvement  on  one  hand,  the 


8  THE   OLD   SERVANT. 

intercession  of  my  dear  mother  on  the  other,  and  finally, 
the  troubles  raised  by  Mikolai,  prevented  it.  Mikolai  did 
not  know  what  kind  of  creature  penmanship  was,  and 
to  punish  one  for  German  —  that  he  would  not  even 
listen  to. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  is  the  boy  a  Lutheran,  or  some 
Schwab?  Did  the  lord  colonel  know  how  to  speak 
German  ?  or  does  the  lord  himself  [here  he  turned  to 
my  father]  know  how  to  speak  it?  We  met  the  Ger- 
mans at  —  What  is  the  name  of  the  place  ?  At  Leipzig, 
and  the  devil  knows  wherever  we  attacked  them  we 
didn't  talk  German,  but  they  showed  us  their  backs 
right  away." 

Old  Mikolai  had  one  more  peculiarity :  he  spoke 
rarely  of  his  former  expeditions,  but  when  in  moments  of 
special  good  humor  he  did  so,  he  lied  as  if  possessed.  He 
did  not  do  this  through  bad  faith  ;  in  his  old  head  perhaps 
facts  were  mixed  up,  and  grew  to  fantastic  proportions. 
Whatever  military  exploits  he  had  heard  of  during  youth 
he  appropriated  to  himself  and  my  grandfather,  his  colo- 
nel. And  he  believed  sacredly  all  that  he  said. 

Sometimes  in  the  barn,  while  overseeing  peasants 
working  out  their  dues  in  threshing  wheat,  he  would  be- 
gin to  narrate  ;  the  men  would  stop  work,  and,  resting  on 
their  flails,  listen  with  lips  open  in  wonderment.  Then 
he  would  notice  them  and  shout,  — 

"  Why  do  ye  turn  mouths  on  me  as  big  as  cannon  ? " 

And  again  was  heard,  — 

"  Lupu !  Tsupu  !  Lupu  !  Tsupu ! " 

The  sound  of  flails  was  heard  for  some  time  on  the 
straw,  but  after  a  while  Mikolai  would  begin  again,  — 

"  My  son  writes  me  that  he  has  just  been  made  general 
by  the  Queen  of  Palmyra.  He  has  a  good  place  there,  high 
pay, but  there  are  terrible  frosts  in  that  country—  "  etc. 


THE   OLD   SERVANT.  9 

I  may  mention  that  the  old  man  had  no  success  with 
his  children.  He  had  a  son,  it  is  true,  but  a  great  good- 
for-nothing,  who,  when  he  grew  up,  made  Lord  knows 
what  trouble ;  finally  he  went  into  the  world  and  disap- 
peared without  trace ;  and  Mikolai's  daughter,  in  her 
time  a  wonder  of  a  girl,  was  giddy  with  all  the  officials, 
as  many  as  there  were  in  the  village,  and  finally  died, 
after  giving  the  world  a  daughter.  That  daughter  was 
called  Hania.  She  was  about  my  age,  beautiful,  but 
delicate.  I  remember  that  often  we  played  soldier. 
Hania  was  the  drummer,  but  a  nettle  to  our  enemies. 
She  was  good  and  mild  as  an  angel.  A  grievous  fate 
awaited  her  in  the  world,  but  those  are  memories  which 
do  not  concern  us  at  present. 

I  return  to  the  old  man's  narratives.  Once  I  heard 
him  tell  how  on  a  time  the  horses  of  the  Uhlans  stam- 
peded in  Mariampol.  Eighteen  thousand  of  them  rushed 
in  through  the  gates  of  Warsaw.  "  How  many  people 
they  trampled  to  death,"  said  he,  "  what  a  day  of  judg- 
ment there  was  till  they  were  caught,  it  is  easy  to  im- 
agine." Another  time  he  told,  not  in  the  barn,  however, 
but  to  us  all  in  the  mansion,  the  following,  — 

"  Did  we  fight  well  ?  Why  should  n't  we  fight  well  ?  I 
remember  once  there  was  war  with  the  Austrians ;  I  was 
standing  in  the  rank,  in  the  rank,  I  say,  and  up  to  me 
rides  the  commander-in-chief,  as  if  to  give  a  message  from 
the  Austrians,  that  is,  from  the  opposite  side.  '  Ei,  thou 
Suhovolski,'  said  he,  '  I  know  thee !  If  we  could  only 
catch  thee  we  should  finish  the  whole  war.' " 

"But  didn't  he  say  anything  about  the  colonel?" 
asked  my  father. 

"  Of  course !  for  he  said  expressly,  '  thee  and  the 
colonel.' " 

Father  Ludvik  got  impatient  and  said, — 


10  THE  OLD   SERVANT. 

"  But  thou,  Mikolai,  tellest  lies  as  if  them  wert  getting 
special  pay  for  them." 

The  old  man  frowned  and  would  have  retorted  ;  but  he 
feared  Father  Ludvik  and  respected  him,  so  he  said  noth- 
ing ;  but  after  a  while,  wishing  somehow  to  straighten  the 
affair,  het  continued,  — 

"Father  Seklutski,  our  chaplain,  told  me  the  same. 
Once  when  I  got  a  bayonet  thrust  from  the  Austrians 
under  the  twelfth,  I  meant  to  say  the  fifth  rib,  I  was  in  a 
bad  state.  Ha !  thought  I,  it  is  necessary  to  die,  so  I 
confessed  all  my  sins  to  the  Lord  God  Almighty  before 
Father  Seklutski.  Father  Seklutski  listened  and  lis- 
tened ;  at  last  he  said, '  Fear  God,  Mikolai,  thou  hast  told 
me  all  the  lies  thou  knowest.'  And  I  said :  '  Maybe,  for 
I  don't  remember  any  more.' " 

"  And  they  cured  thee  ? " 

"  Cured !  How  could  they  cure  me  ?  I  cured  myself. 
I  mixed  right  away  two  charges  of  powder  in  a  quart  of 
vodka  and  swallowed  it  for  the  night.  Next  morning  I 
woke  up  as  sound  as  a  fish." 

I  should  have  heard  more  of  these  narratives  and 
recorded  them,  but  Father  Ludvik,  I  know  not  why,  for- 
bade Mikolai  "  to  turn  my  head,"  as  he  declared,  "  com- 
pletely." Poor  Father  Ludvik,  as  a  priest  and  a  quiet 
village  dweller,  did  not  know  first,  that  every  youth 
whom  a  storm  casts  out  of  his  quiet,  native  corner 
into  the  wide  arena  of  the  world  must  have  his  head 
turned  more  than  once,  and  second,  that  it  is  not  old 
servants  and  their  narratives  that  turn  them,  but  some 
one  else. 

For  that  matter  the  influence  of  Mikolai  on  us  could 
not  be  harmful ;  on  the  contrary,  the  old  man  watched 
over  us  and  our  conduct  very  carefully  and  sternly. 
He  was  a  conscientious  man  in  the  full  sense  of  that 


THE   OLD   SERVANT.  11 

word.  From  his  military  days  one  fine  characteristic 
remained  with  him :  conscientiousness  and  accuracy  in 
carrying  out  orders. 

One  winter,  as  I  remember,  the  wolves  inflicted  enormous 
damage  ;  they  grew  so  bold  that  in  the  night  a  few  of  them 
came  to  the  village,  and  then  some  tens  of  them.  My 
father,  a  born  hunter,  wanted  to  arrange  a  great  hunt ; 
but  since  he  was  anxious  that  the  command  of  it  should 
be  taken  by  our  neighbor,  Pan  Ustrytski,  a  renowned 
destroyer  of  wolves,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  him,  and  calling 
Mikolai  said,  — 

"  My  tenant  is  going  to  the  town  ;  let  Mikolai  go  with 
him,  get  out  on  the  road  near  Ustrytsi,  and  give  this  letter 
to  Pan  Ustrytski.  But  it  is  necessary  to  bring  me  an 
answer.  Do  not  come  back  without  an  answer." 

Mikolai  took  the  letter,  got  in  with  the  tenant,  and  they 
drove  off.  In  the  evening  the  tenant  returned ;  Mikolai 
was  not  with  him.  My  father  thought  that  perhaps  he 
would  spend  the  night  in  Ustrytsi  and  return  in  the 
morning.  A  day  passed,  no  Mikolai ;  a  second  day  passed, 
nothing  of  him ;  a  third,  no  sign  of  him.  There  was 
lamentation  in  the  house.  My  father,  fearing  that  wolves 
had  attacked  him  on  the  way  home,  sent  people  to  search 
for  the  man.  They  searched,  but  not  a  trace  could 
they  find.  They  sent  to  Ustrytsi.  In  Ustrytsi  it  was  said 
that  he  had  been  there,  had  not  found  Pan  Ustrytski ;  that 
he  had  inquired  where  he  was,  then  borrowed  four  rubles 
from  the  lackey  and  gone,  it  was  unknown  whither. 
What  can  all  this  mean  ?  thought  we. 

Next  day  messengers  came  from  other  villages  with  in- 
formation that  they  had  not  found  him  anywhere.  We 
had  begun  to  mourn  for  him  when  on  the  sixth  evening 
my  father,  who  was  making  dispositions  in  the  chancery, 
heard  all  at  once,  outside  the  door,  the  wiping  of  feet, 


12  THE    OLD   SERVANT. 

and  hawking  and  grumbling  in  a  low  voice,  by  which  he 
recognized  Mikolai  immediately. 

In  fact,  it  was  Mikolai,  chilled  through,  tired,  thin, 
with  icicles  hanging  from  his  mustaches,  almost  unlike 
himself. 

"  Mikolai !  But  fear  God !  what  hast  thou  been  doing 
all  this  time  ? " 

"  What  have  I  been  doing,  what  have  I  been  doing  ? " 
muttered  Mikolai.  "  What  was  I  to  do  ?  I  did  not  find 
Pan  Ustrytski  at  home,  I  went  to  Bzin.  In  Bzin  they 
told  me,  deuce  take  it,  that  Pan  Ustrytski  had  gone  to 
Karalovka.  I  went  there  too.  He  had  gone  from  Kara- 
lovka,  also.  But  is  n't  he  free  to  warm  strange  corners  ? 
Is  n't  he  a  lord  ?  Besides,  he  does  not  travel  on  foot. 
'  Very  well,'  said  I,  and  from  Karalovka  I  went  to  the 
capital,  for  they  said  that  he  was  in  the  district  capital. 
And  what  business  had  he  in  the  capital,  was  he  the 
mayor  ?  He  went  to  the  government  town.  Was  I  to 
return  ?  I  went  to  the  government  town  and  gave  him 
the  letter." 

"  Well,  did  he  give  thee  an  answer  ? " 

"  He  did,  and  he  did  n't.  He  gave  it,  but  he  laughed 
so  that  I  could  see  his  back  teeth.  '  Thy  lord,'  said  he, 
'  asks  me  to  a  hunt  on  Thursday,  and  thou  givest  me  this 
letter  on  the  following  Monday.  The  hunt  is  over  now.' 
And  he  laughed  again.  Here  is  the  letter.  Why  should  n't 
he  laugh  ? " 

"  But  what  hast  thou  eaten  all  this  time  ?" 

"Well,  what  of  it  if  I  haven't  eaten  anything  since 
yesterday  ?  Do  1  suffer  hunger  here  ?  Or  are  the  spoons 
stingy  of  food  with  me  ?  If  I  have  n't  eaten,  I  shall 
eat." 

After  that  no  one  gave  unconditional  commands  to 
Mikolai,  but  as  often  as  he  was  sent  anywhere  we  told 


THE   OLD   SERVANT.  13 

him  what  to  do  in  case  he  did  not  find  the  person  at 
home. 

Some  months  later  Mikolai  went  to  a  fair  at  a  neigh- 
boring town  to  buy  horses,  for  he  knew  horses  perfectly. 
In  the  evening  the  manager  came  to  say  that  Mikolai 
had  brought  the  horses,  but  had  come  back  beaten  and 
was  ashamed  to  appear.  My  father  went  immediately  to 
Mikolai,  — 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  thee,  Mikolai  ? " 

"  I  had  a  fight ! "  he  blurted  out  briefly. 

"  Be  ashamed,  old  man.  Thou  wilt  pick  quarrels  in  a 
market  ?  Thou  hast  no  sense.  Old,  but  a  fool !  Dost 
thou  know  that  I  would  discharge  another  man  for  such 
a  trick  ?  Be  ashamed.  It  must  be  that  thou  wert  drunk. 
So  thou  art  spoiling  my  people,  instead  of  giving  an 
example." 

My  father  was  really  angry,  and  when  he  was  angry 
he  did  not  trifle.  But  this  was  the  wonder,  that  Mikolai, 
who  on  such  occasions  did  not  forget  the  tongue  in  his 
mouth,  was  as  silent  as  a  log  this  time.  Evidently  the 
old  man  had  grown  stubborn.  Others  asked  him  in 
vain  how  it  had  happened  and  what  was  the  question. 
He  merely  snorted  at  one,  and  said  not  a  word  to  the 
other. 

But  they  had  annoyed  him  in  earnest.  Next  morning 
he  was  so  sick  that  we  had  to  send  for  the  doctor.  The 
doctor  was  the  first  man  to  explain  the  affair.  A  week 
before  my  father  had  quarrelled  with  his  overseer;  the 
man  ran  away  on  the  following  day.  He  betook  himself 
to  a  certain  Pan  Zoll,  a  German,  a  great  enemy  of  my 
father,  and  took  service.  At  the  fair  were  Pan  Zoll,  our 
former  overseer,  and  Pan  Zoll's  servants,  who  had  driven 
fat  cattle  to  the  fair  to  be  sold. 

Pan  Zoll  saw  Mikolai  first ;  he  approached  his  wagon 


14  THE   OLD   SERVANT. 

and  fell  to  abusing  my  father.  Mikolai  called  him  a 
traitor,  and  when  Pan  Zoll  uttered  new  outrages  against 
my  father,  Mikolai  retorted  with  the  handle  of  his  whip. 
Then  the  overseer  and  Zoll's  servants  rushed  at  Mikolai 
and  beat  him  till  he  was  bloody. 

When  my  father  heard  this  story  tears  came  to  his  eyes. 
He  could  not  forgive  himself  for  having  scolded  Mikolai, 
who  had  been  silent  about  the  whole  affair  purposely. 

When  Mikolai  recovered  my  father  went  to  reproach 
him.  The  old  man  at  first  would  not  confess  anything, 
and  grumbled  according  to  his  habit ;  but  afterward  he 
grew  tender,  and  he  and  my  father  cried  like  two  beavers. 
Next  my  father  challenged  Zoll  for  the  affair,  and  a  duel 
was  fought  which  that  German  remembered  for  many 
a  day. 

But  had  it  not  been  for  the  doctor,  Mikolai's  devotion 
would  have  remained  unknown.  Mikolai  had  hated  that 
doctor  for  a  long  time.  The  cause  was  as  follows :  — 

I  had  a  beautiful  and  youthful  aunt,  my  father's  sister, 
who  lived  with  us.  I  loved  her  greatly,  for  she  was  as 
good  as  she  was  beautiful,  and  it  did  not  astonish  me 
that  all  loved  her,  and  among  others  the  doctor,  a  man 
who  was  young,  wise,  and  exceedingly  respected  in  that 
whole  region.  At  first  Mikolai  liked  the  doctor,  said 
that  he  was  a  clever  fellow  and  rode  well ;  but  when  the 
doctor  began  to  visit  us  with  evident  intentions  regarding 
Aunt  Marynia,  Mikolai's  feelings  toward  him  changed 
beyond  recognition.  He  began  to  be  polite,  but  cold  to 
him  as  to  a  man  utterly  strange.  Formerly  he  would 
scold  even  him.  When  on  some  occasion  he  had  sat  too 
long  with  us,  Mikolai  when  preparing  him  for  the  road 
grumbled  :  "  What  is  the  good  of  knocking  around  in  the 
night  ?  That  serves  nothing.  Has  any  one  ever  seen  the 
like ! "  Now  he  ceased  to  scold,  and  was  as  silent  as  if 


THE   OLD   SERVANT.  15 

turned  to  stone.  The  honest  doctor  understood  soon 
what  it  meant,  and,  though  he  smiled  kindly  as  before  at 
the  old  man,  still,  I  think  that  in  his  soul  it  must  have 
annoyed  him. 

Happily  for  the  young  Esculapius  Aunt  Marynia  cher- 
ished for  him  feelings  directly  opposite  those  of  Mikolai. 
On  a  certain  evening,  when  the  moon  was  lighting  the 
hall  very  nicely,  the  odor  of  jasmine  came  in  through  the 
open  window.  Aunt  Marynia  was  singing  at  the  piano 
"  lo  questa  notte  sogno."  Doctor  Stanislav  approached 
and  asked  in  a  quivering  voice,  if  she  thought  that  he 
could  live  without  her.  Evidently  aunt  expressed  her 
doubts  on  this  subject ;  then  followed  mutual  vows,  the 
calling  of  the  moon  to  witness,  and  all  things  of  that  sort, 
which  are  done  usually  in  such  cases. 

Unfortunately  Mikolai  came  in  just  that  moment  to 
call  them  to  tea.  When  he  saw  what  was  happening,  he 
ran  at  once  to  my  father,  and  since  my  father  was  not 
at  the  house,  for  he  was  walking  around  the  buildings  of 
the  estate,  he  went  to  my  mother,  who  with  her  usual 
kindly  smile  prayed  him  not  to  interfere  in  the  matter. 

The  confused  Mikolai  was  silent,  gnawing  himself 
internally  during  the  rest  of  the  evening ;  but  when  my 
father  before  going  to  bed  went  once  more  to  the  chancery 
to  write  some  letters,  Mikolai  followed  him,  and  stopping 
at  the  door  began  to  cough  significantly  and  knock  his 
feet  together. 

"  What  does  Mikolai  wish  ? "  asked  my  father. 

"  But  that  —  What  do  they  call  it  ?  —  I  wanted  to 
ask  if  it  is  true  that  our  young  lady  is  going  to  take  —  a 
wife  —  I  wanted  to  say  going  to  take  a  husband  ? " 

"  Yes.     What  of  it  ?  " 

"  But  it  cannot  be  true  that  the  young  lady  is  going  to 
marry  that  —  barber  ? " 


16  THE   OLD   SERVANT. 

"  What  barber  ?  Has  Mikolai  gone  mad  ?  —  And  must 
he  push  in  his  three  coppers  everywhere  ? " 

"  But  the  young  lady,  is  she  not  our  young  lady ;  is 
she  not  the  daughter  of  the  lord  colonel?  The  lord 
colonel  would  never  have  permitted  this.  Is  not  the 
young  lady  worthy  of  an  heir  and  a  lord  of  lords  ? 
But  the  doctor,  with  permission,  who  is  he  ?  The  young 
lady  will  expose  herself  to  the  ridicule  of  people." 

"  The  doctor  is  a  wise  man." 

"  Wise  or  not  wise,  is  it  few  doctors  that  I  have  seen  ? 
They  used  to  go  through  the  camp  and  circle  around  in 
the  army  staff ;  but  when  it  came  to  anything,  a  battle, 
for  instance,  they  were  not  there.  Didn't  the  lord 
colonel  call  them  '  lancet  fellows '  ?  While  a  man  is  well 
the  doctor  won't  touch  him,  but  when  he  is  lying  half 
alive,  then  the  doctor  will  go  at  him  with  his  lancet.  It 
is  no  trick  to  cut  up  a  man  when  he  cannot  defend  himself, 
for  he  has  nothing  in  his  hand.  But  try  to  cut  him  when 
he  is  well,  and  has  a  gun.  Oi  yei !  A  great  thing  to  go 
over  people's  bones  with  a  knife  !  There  is  no  good  in 
that !  But  the  lord  colonel  would  rise  out  of  his  grave  if 
he  knew  of  this.  What  kind  of  a  soldier  is  a  doctor  ? 
Or  is  such  a  man  an  heir  ?  This  cannot  be  !  The  young 
lady  will  not  marry  him.  That 's  not  according  to  com- 
mand. Who  is  he  to  aspire  to  the  young  lady  ? " 

Unfortunately  for  Mikolai  the  doctor  not  only  aspired 
to  the  young  lady,  but  even  got  her.  Half  a  year  later 
the  wedding  took  place,  and  the  colonel's  daughter, 
covered  with  floods  of  her  relatives'  tears,  and  tears  of 
the  house-servants  in  general,  but  of  Mikolai  in  particular, 
went  away  to  share  the  fate  of  the  doctor. 

Mikolai  did  not  cherish  any  feeling  of  offence  against 
her,  for  he  could  not,  since  he  loved  her  so  much  ;  but  he 
would  not  forgive  the  doctor.  He  hardly  ever  mentioned 


THE   OLD   SERVANT.  17 

his  name,  and  in  general  tried  not  to  speak  of  him.  I 
may  say  in  passing  that  Aunt  Marynia  was  most  happy 
with  Doctor  Stanislav. 

After  a  year  God  gave  them  a  beautiful  boy,  after 
another  year  a  girl,  and  so  on  in  turn,  as  if  it  had  been 
written  down.  Mikolai  loved  those  children  as  his  own ; 
he  carried  them  in  his  arms,  fondled  them,  kissed  them, 
but  that  there  was  a  certain  vexation  in  his  heart  because 
of  the  mesalliance  of  Aunt  Marynia  I  noticed  more  than 
once. 

We  had  assembled  one  Christmas  eve,  when  suddenly 
the  rumble  of  a  carriage  was  heard  on  the  road.  We 
always  looked  for  a  number  of  relatives,  therefore  my 
father  said,  — 

"  Let  Mikolai  look  out  and  see  who  is  coming." 

Mikolai  went  out,  and  returned  soon  with  delight  in 
his  face. 

"  The  young  lady  is  coming ! "  cried  he,  from  a  distance. 

"  Who  is  that  ? "  inquired  my  father,  though  he  knew 
whom  Mikolai  meant. 

"  The  young  lady." 

"  What  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Our  young  lady." 

She  was  a  sight,  that  young  lady,  when  she  came  into 
the  room  with  three  children.  A  pretty  young  lady  !  But 
the  old  man  in  his  fashion  called  her  "  the  young  lady " 
and  nothing  else. 

At  last  his  repugnance  to  Doctor  Stanislav  came  to  an 
end.  Hania  fell  terribly  ill  of  typhus.  That  for  me  too 
was  a  great  affliction,  since  Hania  was  about  my  age  and 
my  only  playmate,  and  I  loved  her  almost  as  a  sister. 
Doctor  Stanislav  hardly  left  her  room  for  three  days.  The 
old  man,  who  loved  Hania  with  all  the  strength  of  his  soul, 
went  around  during  the  time  of  her  illness  as  if  poisoned ; 


18  THE   OLD   SERVANT. 

he  neither  ate  nor  drank,  he  just  sat  at  the  door  of  her 
room.  To  her  bed  no  one  was  permitted  to  go  except  my 
mother.  The  old  man  chewed  the  hard  iron  pain  which 
was  tearing  his  breast.  His  was  a  soul  of  strong  temper, 
as  well  for  bodily  toil  as  for  blows  of  misfortune ;  still  it 
almost  bent  under  the  weight  of  despair  near  the  bed  of 
that  single  grandchild.  At  last,  after  many  days  of 
mortal  fear,  Doctor  Stanislav  opened  the  door  of  the  sick 
girl's  room  quietly,  and  with  a  face  beaming  with  happi- 
ness, whispered  to  those  waiting  his  sentence  in  the  next 
room,  one  little  phrase :  "  Saved."  The  old  man  could 
not  endure;  he  bellowed  like  a  bison  and  threw  himself 
at  the  doctor's  feet,  merely  repeating  with  sobs  :  "  Bene- 
factor, my  benefactor ! " 

Hania  recovered  quickly.  After  that  it  was  clear  that 
Doctor  Stanislav  had  become  an  eye  in  the  old  man's 
head. 

"  A  clever  man  ! "  repeated  he,  stroking  his  mustaches, 
"  a  clever  man.  And  sits  well  on  horseback.  Without 
him,  Hania—  Oh!  I  will  not  even  mention  it —  A 
charm  on  a  dog!" 

In  a  year  or  so  after  this  event  the  old  man  began 
to  fail.  His  straight  and  powerful  figure  bent.  He  be- 
came very  decrepit,  he  ceased  to  grumble  and  lie.  At 
last,  when  he  had  reached  almost  ninety  years  he  became 
perfectly  childish.  All  he  did  was  to  make  snares  for 
birds ;  he  kept  a  number  of  birds  in  his  room,  especially 
titmice. 

Some  days  before  death  he  did  not  recognize  people ; 
but  on  the  very  day  of  his  decease  the  dying  lamp  of  his 
mind  gleamed  up  once  more  with  bright  light.  I  remem- 
ber this  because  my  parents  were  abroad  then,  for  my 
mother's  health.  On  a  certain  evening  I  was  sitting 
before  the  fire  with  my  younger  brother,  Kazio,  and  the 


THE   OLD   SERVANT.  19 

priest,  who  had  also  grown  old.  The  winter  wind  with 
clouds  of  snow  was  striking  at  the  window.  Father 
Ludvik  was  praying  ;  I,  with  Kazio's  help,  was  preparing 
weapons  for  the  morrow's  hunt  on  fresh  snow.  All  at 
once  they  told  us  that  old  Mikolai  was  dying.  Father 
Ludvik  went  immediately  to  the  domestic  chapel  for  the 
sacrament.  I  hurried  with  all  speed  to  the  old  man. 
He  was  lying  on  the  bed,  very  pale,  yellow,  and  almost 
stiffening,  but  calm  and  with  presence  of  mind. 

That  bald  head  was  beautiful,  adorned  with  two  scars : 
the  head  of  an  old  soldier  and  an  honest  man.  The 
candle  cast  a  funereal  gleam  on  the  walls  of  the  room. 
In  the  corners  chirped  tame  titmice.  With  one  hand 
the  old  man  pressed  the  crucifix  to  his  breast ;  his  other 
was  held  by  Hania,  who  was  as  pale  as  a  lily,  and  she 
covered  it  with  kisses. 

Father  Ludvik  came  in  and  the  confession  began  ;  then 
the  dying  man  asked  for  me. 

"My  master  is  not  here,  nor  my  beloved  mistress," 
whispered  he,  "  therefore  it  is  grievous  for  me  to  die. 
But  you,  my  golden  Panich,  the  heir  —  be  a  guardian  to 
this  orphan  —  God  will  reward  you.  Be  not  angry  — 
If  I  have  offended  —  forgive  me.  I  was  bitter,  but  I 
was  faithful." 

Roused  again  suddenly  he  called  in  a  strange  voice,  and 
in  haste,  as  if  breath  failed  him,  — 

"  Pan  !  —  Heir  !  —  my  orphan  ! —  0  God  —  into  Thy  —  " 

"  Hands  I  commend  the  soul  of  this  valiant  soldier, 
this  faithful  servant  and  honest  man ! "  said  Father 
Ludvik,  solemnly. 

The  old  man  was  no  longer  alive. 

We  knelt  down,  and  the  priest  began  to  repeat  prayers 
for  the  dead,  aloud. 

Nearly   twenty   years  have   passed   since   that   time. 


20  THE  OLD   SERVANT. 

On  the  tomb  of  the  honest  servant  the  heather  of  the 
cemetery  has  grown  vigorously. 

Gloomy  times  came.  A  storm  swept  away  the  sacred 
and  quiet  fire  of  my  village.  To-day  Father  Ludvik  is  in 
the  grave,  Aunt  Marynia  is  in  the  grave ;  I  earn  with 
the  pen  my  bitter  daily  bread,  and  Hania  — 

Hei !  tears  are  flowing  ! 


HANIA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WHEN  old  Mikolai  on  his  death-bed  left  Hania  to 
my  guardianship  and  conscience,  I  was  sixteen 
years  of  age  ;  she  was  younger  by  almost  a  year,  and  was 
also  just  emerging  from  childhood. 

I  had  to  lead  her  from  the  bed  of  her  dead  grandfather 
almost  by  force,  and  we  both  went  to  my  father's  domes- 
tic chapel.  The  doors  of  the  chapel  were  open,  and 
before  the  old  Byzantine  image  of  the  Mother  of  God  two 
candles  were  burning.  The  gleam  of  these  lighted  but 
faintly  the  darkness  on  the  altar.  We  knelt  down,  one 
at  the  side  of  the  other.  She,  broken  by  sorrow,  wearied 
by  sobbing,  sleeplessness,  and  grief,  rested  her  poor  little 
head  on  my  arm,  and  so  we  remained  there  in  silence. 
The  hour  was  late ;  in  the  hall  adjoining  the  chapel,  the 
cuckoo  called  hoarsely  on  the  old  Dantiz  clock  the  second 
hour  after  midnight.  Deep  silence  everywhere,  broken 
only  by  the  painful  sighs  of  Hania,  and  by  the  distant 
sound  of  the  snow-bearing  wind,  which  at  times  shook 
the  leaden  window-sash  in  the  chapel.  I  did  not  dare  to 
speak  one  word  of  solace ;  I  merely  drew  her  toward  me, 
as  her  guardian,  or  her  elder  brother.  But  I  could  not 
pray  ;  a  thousand  impressions  and  feelings  shook  my  heart 
and  head,  various  images  swept  before  my  eyes,  but  grad- 
ually out  of  that  whirlpool  one  thought  and  one  feeling 
emerged,  —  namely,  that  this  pale  face  with  closed  eyes, 


22  HANIA. 

this  defenceless,  poor  little  creature  resting  on  my  arm, 
had  become  to  me  now  a  dear  sister  for  whose  sake  I 
would  give  my  life,  and  for  whose  sake,  should  the  need 
come,  I  would  throw  down  the  gauntlet  to  the  whole 
world. 

My  brother,  Kazio,  appeared  now  and  knelt  down 
behind  us,  next  Father  Ludvik  and  a  few  of  the  ser- 
vants. We  said  our  evening  prayers,  according  to  daily 
custom  :  Father  Ludvik  read  the  prayers  aloud,  we  re- 
peated them,  or  answered  the  litany ;  the  dark  face  of  the 
Mother  of  God,  with  two  sabre-cuts  on  her  cheek,  looked 
at  us  kindly.  She  seemed  to  take  part  in  our  family 
cares  and  afflictions,  in  our  happiness  or  misfortune,  and 
bless  all  who  were  assembled  at  her  feet. 

During  prayers,  when  Father  Ludvik  began  to  commem- 
orate the  dead,  for  whom  we  repeated  usually  "  Eternal 
rest,"  and  connected  with  them  the  name  of  Mikolai, 
Hania  sobbed  aloud  again ;  and  I  made  a  vow  in  my  soul, 
that  I  would  accomplish  sacredly  the  duties  which  the 
deceased  had  imposed  on  me,  even  had  I  to  accomplish 
them  at  the  cost  of  the  greatest  sacrifice. 

This  was  the  vow  of  a  young  enthusiast  who  did  not 
understand  yet  either  the  possible  greatness  of  the  sac- 
rifices or  the  responsibility,  but  who  was  not  without 
noble  impulses  and  sensitive  transports  of  soul. 

After  evening  prayer  we  parted  to  go  to  rest.  On  the 
old  housekeeper,  Vengrosia,  I  imposed  the  duty  of  con- 
ducting Hania  to  the  chamber  which  she  was  to  occupy 
in  future,  —  not  to  the  wardrobe  chamber,  as  hitherto, 
—  and  to  stay  the  whole  night  with  her.  Kissing  the 
orphan  affectionately,  I  went  to  the  business  house,  where 
I,  Kazio,  and  Father  Ludvik  had  rooms,  arid  which  in  the 
main  house  we  called  the  station.  I  undressed  and  lay 
down  in  bed.  In  spite  of  my  grief  for  Mikolai,  whom  I 


HANIA.  23 

had  loved  sincerely,  I  felt  proud  and  almost  happy  in 
my  role  of  guardian.  It  raised  me  in  my  own  eyes,  that 
I,  a  boy  of  sixteen,  was  to  be  the  support  of  a  weak  and 
helpless  being.  I  felt  full  grown.  "  Thou  wert  not  mis- 
taken, thou  honest  old  soldier,"  thought  I,  "in  thy  young 
lord  and  the  heir ;  in  good  hands  hast  thou  placed  the 
future  of  thy  grandchild,  and  thou  mayst  rest  quietly 
in  thy  grave." 

In  truth,  I  was  at  peace  touching  Hania's  future. 
The  thought  that  she  would  grow  up  in  time,  and 
that  I  should  have  to  give  her  in  marriage,  did  not 
come  to  my  head  then.  I  thought  that  she  would  stay 
with  me  always,  surrounded  with  attention  as  a  sister, 
beloved  as  a  sister,  sad  perhaps,  but  in  peace.  According 
to  ancient  custom  the  first  son  received  more  than  five 
times  as  much  property  as  younger  members  of  the 
family.  The  younger  sons  and  daughters  on  their  part 
respected  this  custom,  and  never  rebelled  against  it. 
Though  in  our  family  there  was  no  legal  primogeniture, 
I  was  the  first  son  of  the  family,  and  therefore  the 
greater  part  of  the  property  would  be  mine ;  hence, 
though  only  a  student  yet,  I  looked  on  the  property  as 
my  own.  My  father  was  among  the  richest  proprietors 
of  that  region.  Our  family  was  not  distinguished,  it  is 
true,  by  the  wealth  of  magnates,  but  by  that  large  old- 
tiuie  nobility-wealth  which  gave  bread  to  be  waded 
through  ;  a  calm  life  and  plenty  in  the  native  nest  until 
death.  I  was  to  be  comparatively  wealthy,  hence  I  looked 
with  calmness  both  on  my  future  and  Hania's,  knowing 
that  whatever  fate  was  awaiting  her  she  would  always 
find  refuge  and  support  with  me  whenever  she  needed 
them. 

I  fell  asleep  with  these  thoughts.  On  the  following 
morning  I  began  to  give  effect  to  the  guardianship.  But 


24  HANIA. 

in  what  a  ridiculous  and  childish  manner  I  did  it !  Still 
when  I  recall  the  whole  matter  to-day  I  cannot  resist  a 
certain  feeling  of  tenderness. 

When  Kazio  and  I  came  to  breakfast  we  found  at  table 
Father  Ludvik,  Madame  d'Yves,  our  governess,  and  also 
my  two  little  sisters,  who  were  sitting  on  high  cane  chairs 
as  usual,  swinging  their  feet  and  prattling  joyously. 

I  sat  down  with  uncommon  dignity  in  my  father's 
arm-chair,  and  casting  the  eye  of  a  dictator  on  the 
table  I  turned  to  the  serving  lad  and  said  in  a  sharp, 
commanding  tone,  — 

"  Bring  a  plate  for  Panna  Hania," 

The  word  "  Panna  "  I  emphasized  purposely.  This  had 
never  happened  before.  Hania  ate  usually  in  the  ward- 
robe chamber,  for  though  my  mother  wished  her  to  sit 
with  us,  old  Mikolai  would  never  permit  it,  saying: 
"  What  good  in  that  ?  Let  her  have  respect  for  lordship. 
What  more  does  she  need  ? "  Now  I  introduced  a  new 
custom.  The  honest  Father  Ludvik  smiled,  covering  his 
smile  with  a  pinch  of  snuff  and  a  silk  handkerchief ; 
Pani  d'Yves  made  a  grimace,  for  in  spite  of  her  good 
heart,  she  was  an  inveterate  aristocrat,  being  a  descend- 
ant of  an  ancient  noble  family  of  France.  The  serving 
boy,  Franek,  opened  his  mouth  widely  and  gazed  at  me 
with  astonishment. 

"  A  plate  for  Panna  Hania  !  Hast  thou  heard  ? "  re- 
peated I. 

"I  obey,  great  mighty  lord,"  answered  Franek,  who 
was  impressed  evidently  by  the  tone  in  which  I  spoke. 

To-day  I  confess  that  the  great  mighty  lord  was 
barely  able  to  suppress  the  smile  of  satisfaction  called 
to  his  lips  by  that  title,  given  him  for  the  first  time  in 
life.  Dignity,  however,  did  not  permit  the  great  mighty 
lord  to  smile. 


HANIA.  25 

Meanwhile  the  plate  was  ready.  In  a  moment  the  door 
opened  and  Hania  entered,  dressed  in  a  black  robe,  which 
the  maid-servant  and  housekeeper  had  prepared  for  her 
during  the  night.  She  was  pale,  with  traces  of  tears  in 
her  eyes ;  her  long  golden  tresses  flowed  down  over  her 
dress  and  ended  in  ribbons  of  black  crape  entwined 
among  the  strands  of  hair. 

I  rose,  and  hastening  to  the  orphan  conducted  her  to 
the  table.  My  efforts  and  all  that  splendor  seemed  to 
embarrass  her,  confusing  and  tormenting  the  child ;  but 
I  did  not  understand  then  that  in  time  of  grief  a  quiet, 
lonely,  uninhabited  corner  with  rest  are  worth  more 
than  the  noisy  ovations  of  friends,  even  if  they  come 
from  the  kindest  heart.  So  in  best  faith  I  was  torment- 
ing Hania  with  my  guardianship,  thinking  that  I  was 
carrying  out  my  task  perfectly.  Hania  was  silent,  and 
only  from  time  to  time  did  she  answer  my  questions  as 
to  what  she  would  eat  and  drink. 

"  Nothing,  I  beg  the  favor  of  the  lord's  son." 

I  was  pained  by  that  "  I  beg  the  favor  of  the  lord's 
son,"  all  the  more,  that  Hania  had  been  more  confidential 
with  me  and  had  called  me  simply  Panich  (lord's  son). 
But  just  the  rQle  which  I  had  played  since  yesterday, 
and  the  changed  relations  in  which  I  had  placed  her, 
made  Hania  more  timid  and  submissive. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  I  took  her  aside. 

"  Hania,  remember  that  hereafter  thou  art  my  sister. 
Never  say  to  me,  '  I  beg  the  favor  of  the  lord's  son.' " 

"  I  will  not ;  I  beg  the  fa  —  I  will  not,  Panich." 

I  was  in  a  strange  position.  I  walked  through  the 
room  with  her,  and  did  not  know  what  to  say.  Gladly 
would  I  have  consoled  her,  but  to  do  that  I  should  have 
to  mention  Mikolai  and  his  death  of  the  day  before ;  that 
would  have  brought  Hania  to  tears,  and  would  have 


26  HANIA. 

been  merely  a  renewal  of  her  suffering.  So  I  finished 
with  this,  that  we  sat  down  on  a  low  sofa  at  the  end  of 
the  room,  the  child  rested  her  head  on  my  shoulder,  and 
I  began  to  stroke  her  golden  hair. 

She  nestled  up  to  me  really  as  to  a  brother,  and  per- 
haps that  sweet  feeling  of  trust  which  rose  in  her  heart 
called  fresh  tears  to  her  eyes.  She  wept  bitterly ;  I  con- 
soled her  as  best  I  could. 

"  Thou  art  weeping  again,  Hania,"  said  I.  "  Thy  grand- 
father is  in  heaven,  and  I  shall  try  —  " 

I  could  not  continue,  for  tears  gathered  in  my  eyes. 

"  Panich,  may  I  go  to  grandfather  ? "  whispered  she. 

I  knew  that  the  coffin  had  been  brought,  and  that  just 
in  that  moment  they  were  placing  Mikolai's  corpse  in  it. 
I  did  not  wish  Hania  to  approach  the  body  till  all  had 
been  arranged.  I  went  alone. 

On  the  way  I  met  Pani  d'Yves,  whom  I  begged  to 
wait  for  me,  as  I  wished  to  speak  with  her  a  moment. 
After  I  had  given  final  orders  touching  the  burial,  and 
had  prayed  before  the  remains  of  Mikolai,  I  returned  to 
the  French  woman,  and  after  a  few  introductory  words 
asked  her  if  in  a  certain  time,  when  the  first  weeks  of 
mourning  had  passed,  she  would  give  Hania  lessons  in 
French  and  music. 

"  Monsieur  Henri,"  answered  Pani  d'Yves,  who  evi- 
dently was  angry  because  I  was  ordering  everything,  like 
a  gray  goose  in  the  sky,  "  I  would  most  willingly,  for  I 
love  that  maiden  much ;  but  I  do  not  know  whether  it 
lies  within  the  designs  of  your  parents,  as  also  I  do  not 
know  whether  they  will  consent  to  the  position  which 
you  are  trying,  of  your  own  will,  to  give  this  little  girl  in 
your  family.  Not  too  much  zeal,  Monsieur  Henri." 

"  She  is  under  my  guardianship,"  said  I,  haughtily,  "  and 
I  am  answerable  for  her." 


HANIA.  27 

"  But  I  am  not  under  your  guardianship,  therefore  you 
will  permit  me  to  wait  till  your  parents  return." 

The  French  woman's  resistance  angered  me,  but  I  suc- 
ceeded incomparably  better  with  Father  Ludvik.  The 
honest  priest,  who  earlier  had  been  teaching  Hania,  not 
only  favored  her  further  and  broader  education,  but 
moreover  praised  me  for  my  zeal. 

"  I  see,"  said  he,  "  that  thou  art  putting  thyself  sin- 
cerely to  thy  task,  though  thou  art  young  and  a  child 
yet.  This  is  to  thy  praise ;  only  remember  to  be  as 
persistent  as  thou  art  zealous." 

And  I  saw  that  the  priest  was  satisfied  with  me.  The 
rOle  of  lord  of  the  house,  which  I  had  taken,  amused 
rather  than  angered  him.  The  old  man  saw  that  there 
was  much  childishness  in  my  conduct,  but  that  the 
motives  were  honest ;  hence  he  was  proud  of  me,  and 
gratified  that  the  seed  which  he  had  cast  into  my  soul 
had  not  been  lost.  Moreover,  the  old  priest  loved  me 
greatly.  As  to  me,  on  approaching  manhood  I  won  him 
as  much  as  I  had  feared  him  during  childhood.  He  had 
a  weakness  for  me,  hence  he  let  himself  be  led.  Hania 
too  he  loved,  and  he  was  glad  to  improve  her  condition 
in  so  far  as  it  lay  in  his  power.  From  him,  therefore,  I 
met  not  the  least  opposition. 

Pani  d'Yves  had  really  a  good  heart,  and  also  met 
Hania  with  tenderness,  though  she  was  a  little  angry 
with  me.  Indeed,  the  orphan  had  no  cause  to  complain 
of  the  lack  of  loving  hearts.  Our  servants  began  to 
treat  her  differently,  not  as  an  associate,  but  as  a  young 
lady.  The  will  of  the  first  son  in  the  family,  even  if  a 
child,  was  greatly  respected  among  us.  This  my  father 
exacted.  From  the  will  of  the  first  son  there  was  a  right 
of  appeal  to  the  old  lord  and  lady,  but  no  one  dared  to 
oppose  this  will  without  being  authorized  It  was  also 


28  HANIA. 

not  in  order  to  address  the  first  son  otherwise  than  as 
"Panich"  (lord's  son)  from  his  earliest  years.  The  ser- 
vants, as  well  as  the  younger  members  of  the  family,  were 
trained  in  respect  for  the  Panich,  and  this  respect  re- 
mained with  him  during  life.  "  The  family  is  upheld 
by  this,"  said  my  father;  and  in  fact  because  of  this 
respect  the  voluntary  constitution  of  the  family,  by 
virtue  of  which  the  eldest  son  had  more  property  than 
the  younger,  was  kept  up  from  of  old,  though  not  rest- 
ing on  law.  That  was  a  family  tradition,  passing  from 
generation  to  generation.  People  were  accustomed  to 
look  on  me  as  their  future  lord ;  and  even  old  Mikolai, 
to  whom  everything  was  permitted,  and  who  alone  called 
me  by  name,  could  not  resist  this  feeling  to  a  certain 
extent. 

My  mother  had  a  medicine  room  in  the  house,  and 
visited  the  sick  herself.  In  time  of  cholera  she  passed 
whole  nights  in  cottages  in  company  with  the  doctor, 
exposing  herself  to  death  ;  but  my  father,  who  trembled 
for  her,  did  not  prohibit  her,  repeating,  "Duty,  duty." 
Moreover,  my  father  himself,  though  exacting,  gave 
assistance.  More  than  once  he  remitted  arrears  of  labor ; 
notwithstanding  his  innate  impulsiveness,  he  forgave 
faults  easily;  frequently  he  paid  debts  for  villagers, 
conducted  weddings,  was  godfather  to  children ;  he  com- 
manded us  to  respect  the  peasants;  to  old  tenants  he  an- 
swered with  his  hat,  —  nay,  more,  he  called  for  their  advice 
frequently.  It  is  not  possible  to  tell  how  attached  the 
peasants  were  to  our  whole  family ;  of  this  they  gave 
convincing  proofs  afterward. 

I  mention  these  things,  first,  to  show  exactly  how  we 
live  and  lived ;  second,  to  show  that  in  making  Hania  a 
lady  I  did  not  meet  much  difficulty.  The  greatest  pas- 
sive resistance  I  met  in  herself,  for  the  child  was  too 


HANIA.  29 

timid,  and  reared  in  excessive  respect  for  the  "lord- 
ships "  by  Mikolai  himself,  to  be  reconciled  easily  with 
her  fate. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MIKOLAI'S  funeral  took  place  three  days  after  his 
death.  Our  neighbors  appeared  in  rather  large 
numbers,  wishing  to  honor  the  memory  of  the  old  man, 
who,  though  a  servant,  was  respected  and  loved  univer- 
sally. We  buried  him  in  our  family  vault,  and  his  coffin 
was  placed  near  the  coffin  of  my  grandfather,  the  colonel. 
During  the  ceremony  I  did  not  leave  Hania  for  an  in- 
stant. She  had  come  with  me  in  the  sleigh,  and  I  wished 
that  she  should  return  with  me ;  but  Father  Ludvik  sent 
me  to  invite  the  neighbors  from  the  cemetery  to  our 
house  to  warm  and  strengthen  themselves.  Meanwhile 
my  comrade  and  friend,  Mirza  Selim  Davidovich,  occu- 
pied himself  with  Hania.  He  was  the  son  of  Mirza 
Davidovich,  a  neighbor  of  my  father ;  he  was  of  Tartar 
origin  and  a  Mohammedan,  but  his  ancestors  had  lived 
in  our  neighborhood  from  remote  times  and  enjoyed 
citizenship  and  nobility.  I  had  to  sit  with  the  Ustryt- 
skis ;  Hania  went  with  Pani  d'Yves  and  Selim  to  another 
sleigh.  I  saw  the  honest  young  fellow  cover  her  with 
his  own  fur,  then  take  the  reins  from  the  driver  and 
shout  at  the  horses;  they  flew 'on  like  a  whirlwind. 

On  returning  to  the  house  Hania  went  to  weep  in  her 
grandfather's  chamber.  I  could  not  hurry  after  her,  for 
I  had  to  receive  the  guests  in  company  with  Father 
Ludvik. 

Finally  all  went  away  except  Selim ;  he  was  to  pass 
with  us  the  rest  of  the  Christmas  holidays,  study  with 


30  HANIA. 

me  a  little,  —  for  we  were  both  in  the  seventh  class,  and 
the  examination  of  maturitas  was  waiting  for  us,  —  but 
still  more  to  ride,  to  shoot  at  a  mark  with  pistols,  to 
fence  and  to  hunt,  occupations  which  we  both  much 
preferred  to  translating  the  Annals  of  Tacitus  or  the 
Cyropedaia  of  Xenophon. 

This  Selim  was  a  joyous  fellow,  a  rogue  and  very  mis- 
chievous ;  passionate  as  a  spark,  but  sympathetic  in  the 
highest  degree.  All  in  the  house  loved  him  greatly 
except  my  father,  who  was  angry  because  the  young 
Tartar  shot  and  fenced  better  than  I.  But  Pani  d'Yves 
lost  her  head  over  him  because  he  spoke  French  like  a 
Parisian.  His  mouth  was  never  shut ;  he  retailed  gossip 
and  witticisms,  and  amused  the  French  woman  better 
than  any  of  us. 

Father  Ludvik  had  some  hope  of  converting  him  to 
the  Catholic  faith,  all  the  more  since  the  boy  jested  some- 
times about  Mohammed,  and  would  beyond  doubt  have 
rejected  the  Koran  had  it  not  been  that  he  feared  his 
father,  who,  out  of  respect  for  family  traditions,  held  with 
both  hands  to  Mohammed,  considering  that  as  a  noble 
of  long  standing  he  preferred  to  be  an  oldtime  Moham- 
medan to  a  newly  made  Catholic.  Old  Davidovich,  how- 
ever, had  no  other  Turkish  or  Tartar  sympathies.  His 
ancestors  had  settled  in  Lithuania  during  the  time, 
perhaps,  of  Vitold.  That  was,  moreover,  a  very  wealthy 
nobility,  living  from  of  old  in  the  same  place.  The 
property  which  they  possessed  had  been  given  by  Yan 
Sobieski  to  Mirza  Davidovich,  a  colonel  of  light  horse, 
who  performed  wonders  at  Vienna,  and  whose  portrait 
was  hanging  then  in  Horeli. 

I  remember  that  portrait  as  making  a  wonderful  im- 
pression on  me.  The  colonel  was  a  terrible  person ;  his 
face  was  written  over  by  God  knows  what  sabres,  as  if 


HANIA.  31 

with  mystic  letters  of  the  Koran.  He  had  a  swarthy 
complexion,  prominent  cheek-bones,  slanting  eyes  with 
a  wonderfully  gloomy  glitter ;  they  had  this  peculiarity, 
that  they  looked  at  you  out  of  the  portrait  always, 
whether  you  stood  straight  in  front  or  at  either  side. 

But  my  comrade,  Selim,  resembled  his  ancestors  in 
nothing.  His  mother,  whom  old  Davidovich  married 
in  the  Crimea,  was  not  a  Tartar,  —  she  came  from  the 
Caucasus.  I  did  not  remember  her,  but  people  said  that 
she  was  a  beauty  of  beauties,  and  that  young  Selim 
resembled  her  as  much  as  one  drop  of  water  resembles 
another. 

Ah !  he  was  a  wonderful  fellow,  that  Selim !  His 
eyes  had  a  scarcely  discernible  slant;  they  were  not 
Tartar  eyes,  though,  but  the  great,  dark,  pensive,  moist 
eyes  for  which  Georgian  women  have  gained  such  re- 
nown. Eyes  with  such  inexpressible  sweetness  when 
calm  I  had  never  seen  in  life,  and  shall  never  see 
again.  He  had  regular  features,  as  noble  as  if  they  had 
come  from  the  chisel  of  a  sculptor,  a  dark  but  delicate 
complexion,  lips  a  trifle  full,  but  red  as  raspberries,  a 
sweet  smile,  and  teeth  like  pearls. 

When  Selim  was  fighting  with  a  comrade,  for  example, 
and  this  happened  often  enough,  his  sweetness  vanished 
like  a  deceptive  nightmare  :  he  became  almost  terrible ; 
his  eyes  seemed  to  swell  out  slantingly  and  gleam  like 
the  eyes  of  a  wolf ;  the  veins  in  his  face  distended ;  his 
complexion  grew  dark ;  and  for  a  moment  the  real  Tartar 
was  roused  in  him,  just  such  a  Tartar  as  those  with 
whom  our  ancestors  went  dancing.  This  transformation 
was  short-lived.  After  a  while  Selim  wept,  begged  par- 
don, kissed,  and  was  forgiven  usually.  He  had  the  best 
of  hearts  and  a  great  inclination  to  noble  impulses.  He 
was  heedless,  however,  somewhat  frivolous,  and  a  frolicker 


32  HANIA. 

of  unrestrained  temperament.  He  rode,  shot,  and  fenced 
like  a  master ;  he  had  medium  success  in  learning,  for 
in  spite  of  great  gifts  he  was  rather  lazy.  We  loved  each 
other  like  brothers,  quarrelled  frequently,  made  peace  as 
often,  and  our  friendship  continued  unbroken.  In  vaca- 
tion and  on  all  holidays  either  I  spent  half  the  time  in 
Horeli,  or  he  with  us. 

And  now  on  his  return  from  Mikolai's  funeral,  Selim 
was  to  stay  with  us  to  the  end  of  the  Christmas  holidays. 

When  the  guests  took  leave  after  dinner,  it  was  per- 
haps four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  The  short  winter 
day  was  near  its  end ;  the  great  evening  twilight  looked 
in  through  the  windows;  on  trees  standing  near  the 
house,  and  hidden  with  snow  covered  with  a  ruddy 
gleam,  the  crows  began  to  caw  and  flutter.  Through  the 
windows  we  could  see  whole  flocks  of  them  flying  across 
the  pond  from  the  forest  and  floating  in  the  evening 
light.  In  the  room  to  which  we  passed  after  dinner, 
silence  prevailed.  Pani  d'Yves  went  to  her  chamber  to 
tell  fortunes  by  cards,  as  her  habit  was ;  Father  Ludvik 
walked  up  and  down  the  room  and  took  snuff;  my  two 
little  sisters,  butting  heads,  tangled  each  other's  golden 
curls ;  Hania,  Selim,  and  I  were  sitting  under  the  win- 
dow, on  a  sofa,  looking  at  the  pond  on  the  garden  side, 
on  the  forest  beyond  the  pond,  and  on  the  vanishing  day- 
light. 

Soon  it  became  entirely  dark.  Father  Ludvik  went 
out  to  evening  prayers ;  one  of  my  little  sisters  chased 
the  other  to  an  adjoining  room ;  we  were  left  alone. 
Selim  had  begun  to  say  something  when  Hania  pushed 
up  to  me  all  at  once  and  whispered,  — 

"  Panich,  something  terrifies  me.     I  am  afraid." 

"  Fear  not,  Haniulka,"  answered  I,  drawing  her  toward 
me.  "  Nestle  up  to  me,  this  way.  Whilst  thou  art  near 


HANIA.  £3 

me,  nothing  evil  can  happen  to  thee.  See,  I  am  not 
afraid  of  anything,  and  I  shall  always  be  able  to  protect 
thee." 

That  was  not  true,  for  whether  because  of  the  gloom 
which  filled  the  hall,  or  Hania's  words,  or  the  recent 
death  of  Mikolai,  I,  too,  was  under  some  strange 
impression. 

"  Perhaps  thou  wilt  ask  to  have  a  light  brought  ? " 
said  I. 

"  Yes,  Panich." 

"  Selim,  ask  Franek  to  bring  a  light." 

Selim  sprang  from  the  sofa,  and  soon  we  heard  an 
uncommon  trampling  and  noise  outside  the  door.  The 
door  opened  with  a  slam ;  in  rushed  Franek  like  a  whirl- 
wind, and  behind,  grasping  his  arm,  was  Selim.  Franek 
had  a  stupid  and  terrified  face,  for  Selim,  holding  the 
boy  by  the  shoulder,  was  spinning  him  like  a  top  and 
turning  round  with  him.  Advancing  with  that  motion 
to  the  sofa,  Selim  halted,  and  said,  — 

"  Thy  lord  commands  thee  to  bring  a  light,  for  the 
young  lady  is  afraid.  Dost  wish  to  bring  the  light,  or 
shall  I  twist  thy  head  off?" 

Franek  went  for  the  lamp  and  returned  with  it  in  a 
moment;  but  it  seemed  that  the  light  injured  Hania's 
eyes,  which  were  red  from  crying,  so  Selim  quenched 
it.  We  were  again  in  mysterious  darkness,  and  again 
silence  reigned  among  us.  Soon  the  moon  cast  bright 
silver  light  through  the  window.  Evidently  Hania  was 
afraid,  for  she  nestled  up  to  me  still  more  closely,  and  I 
had  to  hold  her  hand  besides.  Selim  sat  opposite  us  in 
an  armchair,  and,  as  his  custom  was,  passed  from  a  noisy 
mood  into  thoughtfulness,  and  after  a  while  fell  to 
imagining.  Great  silence  was  among  us ;  we  were  a  little 
afraid ;  but  it  was  pleasant  there. 

3 


34:  HANI  A. 

"  Let  Selim  tell  us  some  story,"  said  I,  "  he  tells  stories 
so  well.  Shall  he,  Hania  ? " 

"Let  him." 

Selim  raised  his  eyes  and  thought  awhile.  The  moon 
lighted  clearly  his  handsome  profile.  After  a  time  he 
began  to  speak  in  a  quivering,  sympathetic,  and  lowered 
voice :  — 

"  Beyond  forests,  beyond  mountains,  lived  in  the 
Crimea  a  certain  kind  woman  named  Lala,  who  could 
soothsay.  Once  the  Sultan  was  passing  her  cottage.  This 
Sultan,  who  was  called  Harun,  was  very  rich ;  he  had  a 
palace  of  coral  with  columns  of  diamonds;  the  roof  of 
that  palace  was  of  pearls.  The  palace  was  so  large  that  it 
took  a  year  to  go  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other.  The 
Sultan  himself  wore  genuine  stars  in  his  turban.  The 
turban  was  of  sun-rays,  and  on  top  of  it  was  a  crescent, 
which  a  certain  enchanter  had  cut  from  the  moon  and 
bestowed  on  the  Sultan.  That  Sultan  was  passing  near 
Lala's  cottage,  and  weeping ;  he  was  weeping  so,  and 
weeping,  that  his  tears  fell  on  the  road,  and  wherever  a 
tear  fell  a  white  lily  sprang  up  right  away. 

" '  Why  art  thou  weeping,  O  Sultan  Harun  ? '  asked 
Lala. 

« <  Why  should  I  not  weep,'  replied  Sultan  Harun, 
'  when  I  have  only  one  daughter,  beautiful  as  the  morn- 
ing dawn,  and  I  must  give  her  to  a  black  Div  with  fiery 
eyes,  who  every  ye  —  ' 

Selim  stopped  suddenly  and  was  silent. 

"  Is  Hania  asleep  ? "  whispered  he  to  me. 

"  No ;  she  is  not  asleep,"  answered  the  girl,  with  drowsy 
voice. 

" '  How  should  I  not  weep,'  said  Harun  the  Sultan 
to  her  [continued  Selim],  '  when  I  have  only  one  daughter, 
and  I  must  give  her  to  the  Div  ? ' 


HANIA.  35 

" '  Do  not  weep,  O  Sultan,'  says  Lala ; '  sit  on  the  winged 
horse  and  ride  to  the  grotto  of  Borah.  Evil  clouds  will 
chase  thee  on  the  road,  but  throw  thou  these  poppy  seeds 
at  them  and  directly  the  clouds  will  fall  asleep.' " 

And  so  Selim  went  on,  and  then  he  stopped  a  second 
time  and  looked  at  Hania.  The  child  was  now  asleep 
really.  She  was  very  tired  and  pained,  and  was  sleeping 
soundly.  Selim  and  I  scarcely  dared  to  breathe  lest  we 
might  waken  her.  Her  breathing  was  even,  peaceful, 
interrupted  only  at  times  by  deep  sighs.  Selim  rested 
his  forehead  on  his  hand  and  fell  into  serious  thought. 
I  raised  my  eyes  toward  the  sky,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  was  flying  away  on  the  wings  of  angels  into 
heavenly  space.  I  cannot  tell  the  sweetness  which  pene- 
trated me,  for  I  felt  that  that  dear  little  being  was  sleep- 
ing calmly  and  with  all  confidence  on  my  breast.  Some 
kind  of  quiver  passed  through  my  whole  body,  —  some- 
thing not  of  earth  ;  new  and  unknown  voices  of  happiness 
were  born  in  my  soul,  and  began  to  sing  and  to  play  like 
an  orchestra.  Oh,  how  I  loved  Hania  !  How  I  loved  her, 
as  a  brother  and  a  guardian  yet,  but  beyond  bound  and 
measure. 

I  approached  my  lips  to  Hania's  hair  and  kissed  it. 
There  was  nothing  earthly  in  that,  for  I  and  the  kiss 
were  yet  equally  innocent. 

Selim  shivered  all  at  once  and  woke  up  from  his 
pensiveness. 

"  How  happy  thou  art,  Henryk ! "  whispered  he. 

"  Yes,  Selim." 

But  we  could  not  stay  there  in  that  way. 

"  Let  us  not  wake  her,  but  carry  her  to  her  room," 
said  Selim. 

"  I  will  carry  her  alone,  and  do  thou  just  open  the 
door,"  answered  I. 


86  HANIA. 

I  drew  my  arm  carefully  from  under  the  head  of  the 
sleeping  girl,  and  laid  her  on  the  sofa.  Then  I  took  her 
carefully  in  my  arms.  I  was  still  a  youth,  but  I  came  of 
uncommonly  strong  stock  ;  the  child  was  small,  frail, 
and  I  carried  her  like  a  feather.  Selim  opened  the  door 
to  the  adjoining  chamber,  which  was  lighted,  and  in  that 
way  we  reached  the  green  chamber,  which  I  had  destined 
to  be  Hania's  room.  The  bed  was  already  prepared.  In 
the  chimney  a  good  fire  was  crackling;  and  near  the 
chimney,  poking  the  coals,  sat  old  Vengrosia,  who,  when 
she  saw  me  burdened  as  I  was,  exclaimed,  — 

"  Ah,  for  God's  sake !  and  so  the  Panich  is  carrying 
the  little  maid.  Was  n't  it  possible  to  wake  her,  and  let 
her  come  herself  ?  " 

"  Let  Vengrosia  be  silent ! "  said  I,  angrily.  "  A  young 
lady,  not  '  a  maid,'  only  a  young  lady ;  does  Vengrosia 
hear  ?  The  young  lady  is  tired.  I  beg  not  to  wake 
her.  Undress  her  and  put  her  to  bed  quietly.  Let 
Vengrosia  remember  that  this  is  an  orphan,  and  that 
we  must  comfort  her  with  kindness  for  the  loss  of  her 
grandfather." 

"  An  orphan,  the  poor  little  thing ;  an  orphan,  indeed," 
repeated  the  honest  Vengrosia,  with  emotion. 

Selim  kissed  the  old  woman  for  this,  then  he  returned 
for  tea. 

Selim  forgot  everything  and  became  frolicsome  at  tea ; 
I  did  not  follow  his  example,  however,  first,  because  I 
was  sad,  and  second,  I  judged  that  it  did  not  become  a 
serious  man,  already  a  guardian,  to  appear  like  a  child. 
That  evening  Selim  raised  another  storm  ;  this  time  with 
Father  Ludvik,  because  when  we  were  at  evening  prayers 
in  the  chapel,  he  flew  out  to  the  yard,  climbed  onto  the 
low  roof  of  the  ice-house,  and  began  to  howl.  The  dogs 
of  the  yard  rushed  together  from  all  sides  and  made 


HANIA.  37 

such  an  uproar  while  accompanying  Selim  that  we  could 
not  say  our  prayers. 

"  Have  you  gone  mad,  Selim  ? "  asked  Father  Ludvik. 

"  Pardon  me,  Father,  I  was  praying  in  Mohammedan 
fashion." 

"  Do  not  make  sport  of  any  religion,  thou  rascal ! " 

"  But  if  I,  begging  your  attention,  want  to  become  a 
Catholic,  only  I  am  afraid  of  my  father,  what  can  1  do 
with  Mohammed  ? " 

The  priest,  attacked  on  his  weak  side,  was  silent,  and 
we  went  to  bed.  Selim  and  I  had  a  room  together,  for 
the  priest  knew  that  we  liked  to  talk,  and  did  not  wish 
to  hinder  us.  When  I  had  undressed  and  saw  that  Selim 
was  doing  the  same  without  praying,  I  inquired,  — 

"  But  really,  Selim,  dost  thou  never  pray  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  do.  If  thou  wish,  I  will  begin  right 
away." 

And  standing  in  the  window  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
moon,  stretched  his  hands  toward  it,  and  began  to  cry  in 
a  singing  voice,  — 

"  Oh,  Allah  !  Akbar  Allah  !   Allah  Kerim  ! " 

Dressed  only  in  white,  with  his  face  raised  toward  the 
sky,  he  was  so  beautiful  that  I  could  not  take  my  eyes 
from  him. 

Then  he  began  to  explain,  — 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  do  not  believe  in  this  prophet  of 
ours,  who  would  let  others  have  only  one  wife,  but  had 
as  many  himself  as  he  pleased.  Besides,  I  tell  thee  that 
I  like  wine.  I  am  not  free  to  be  anything  except  a  Mo- 
hammedan, but  I  believe  in  God,  and  often  I  pray  as  I 
know  how.  But  do  I  know  anything?  I  know  that 
there  is  a  Lord  God,  and  that  is  the  end  of  the  question." 

After  a  while  he  continued, — 

"  Knowest  what,  Henryk  ?  " 


38  HANIA. 

"  What  ? " 

"  I  have  splendid  cigars.  We  are  children  no  longer ; 
let  us  smoke." 

Selim  sprang  out  of  bed  and  got  a  package  of  cigars. 
We  each  lighted  one,  then  lay  down  and  smoked  in  silence, 
spitting  out  of  the  bed  in  secret  from  each  other. 

"  Knowest  thou  what,  Henryk  ? "  said  Selim  after  a 
while.  "  How  I  envy  thee !  Thou  art  really  grown  up 
now." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  For  thou  art  a  guardian  already.  Oh,  if  some  one 
would  leave  me  such  a  ward  to  care  for ! " 

"  That  is  not  so  easy,  and,  besides,  where  could  another 
Hania  be  found  in  the  world?  But  knowest  what?" 
continued  I,  in  the  tone  of  a  mature  wise  man.  "  I  hope 
that  soon  I  shall  not  go  to  school.  A  man  who  has  such 
obligations  at  home  cannot  go  to  school." 

"  And  —  thou  art  raving  !  What !  thou  wilt  not  learn 
any  more  ?  But  school  is  the  main  thing." 

"  Thou  knowest  that  I  like  to  study,  but  duty  before 
all.  Unless  my  father  and  mother  send  Hania  to  Warsaw 
with  me." 

"  They  won't  even  dream  of  it." 

"  While  I  am  in  the  classes,  surely  not ;  but  when  I  am 
in  the  University  they  will.  Well,  dost  thou  not  know 
what  a  student  means  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes !  That  may  happen.  Thou  wilt  be  her 
guardian,  and  thou  wilt  marry  her." 

I  sat  up  in  bed. 

"  Selim,  art  thou  mad  ?  " 

"  Why  shouldst  thou  not  marry  her  ?  In  school  one 
is  not  free  to  marry ;  but  a  student  may  not  only  have  a 
wife,  he  may  have  even  children,"  said  Selim. 

At  that  moment  all  the  University  prerogatives  and 


HANIA.  39 

privileges  did  not  concern  me  in  the  least.  Selim's 
question  illuminated,  as  with  a  lightning  flash,  those 
sides  of  my  heart  which  to  me  were  still  dark.  A  thou- 
sand thoughts,  like  a  thousand  birds,  flew  through  my 
head  all  at  once.  To  marry  my  dear,  beloved  orphan  ! 
Yes ;  that  was  the  lightning  flash,  the  new  flash  of  thought 
and  feelings.  It  seemed  to  me  that  suddenly  into  the 
darkness  of  my  heart  some  one  had  brought  light.  Love, 
deep,  but  brotherly  hitherto,  had  grown  rosy  on  a 
sudden  from  that  light  and  was  heated  through  it  by  an 
unknown  warmth.  To  marry  Hania,  that  bright-haired 
angel,  my  dearest,  most  beloved  Hania.  With  a  weak 
voice  now  and  lower,  I  repeated  like  an  echo,  — 

"  Selim,  art  mad  ?  " 

"  I  would  lay  a  wager  that  thou  art  in  love  with  her 
already,"  said  Selim. 

I  made  no  answer  ;  I  quenched  the  light,  then  seized  a 
corner  of  the  pillow  and  began  to  kiss  it. 

Yes ;  I  loved  her  already. 


CHAPTER   III. 

ON  the  second  or  third  day  after  the  funeral,  my 
father  came,  summoned  by  a  telegram.  I  trem- 
bled lest  he  should  recall  my  dispositions  touching  Hania, 
and  my  forebodings  were  real  to  a  certain  degree.  My 
father  praised  me  and  embraced  me  for  my  zeal  and  con- 
scientiousness in  fulfilling  duties ;  that  pleased  him 
evidently.  He  repeated  even  a  number  of  times,  "  Our 
blood  ! "  which  he  did  only  when  he  was  much  pleased  with 
me.  He  did  not  divine  to  what  extent  that  zeal  was 
interested,  but  my  dispositions  had  not  pleased  him  over- 


40  HANIA. 

much.  It  may  be  that  the  exaggerated  statements  of 
Pani  d'Yves  moved  him  toward  this  a  little,  though 
really  in  the  days  following  that  night  in  which  my 
feelings  rose  to  consciousness  I  made  Hania  the  first 
person  in  the  house. 

He  was  not  pleased  by  my  project  to  educate  her  in 
the  same  way  as  my  sisters. 

"  I  recall  and  withdraw  nothing,"  said  he.  "  That  is 
the  affair  of  thy  mother.  She  will  determine  what  she 
likes  ;  that  is  her  department.  But  it  is  worth  while 
to  think  over  this :  What  is  best  for  the  girl  herself." 

"Education,  father,  will  never  harm.  I  have  heard 
that  from  thy  own  mouth  more  than  once." 

"  True,  in  the  case  of  a  man,"  answered  he,  "  for  the 
education  of  a  man  gives  position,  but  with  a  woman  it 
is  different.  A  woman's  education  should  be  in  accord 
with  the  position  which  she  is  to  occupy  in  life.  Such  a 
girl  does  not  need  more  than  a  medium  education ;  she 
has  no  need  of  French,  music,  and  the  like.  With  a 
medium  education  Hania  will  find  more  easily  an  honest 
official  for  a  husband  — 

"  Father ! " 

He  looked  at  me  with  astonishment. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

I  was  as  red  as  a  beet.  The  blood  almost  spurted 
through  my  face.  In  my  eyes  it  grew  dark.  To  compare 
Hania  with  an  official  seemed  such  blasphemy  before  my 
world  of  imagining  that  I  could  not  withhold  a  cry  of 
indignation.  And  that  blasphemy  pained  me  the  more 
since  it  came  from  the  lips  of  my  father.  That  was  the 
first  cold  water  thrown  by  reality  on  the  burning  faith  of 
youth,  the  first  blow  aimed  by  life  into  the  fairy  castle  of 
illusions,  the  first  deceit  and  disenchantment  from  the 
bitterness  of  which  we  defend  ourselves  with  pessimism 


HANIA.  41 

and  unbelief.  But  as  red-hot  iron,  when  a  drop  of  cold 
water  falls  on  it,  merely  hisses  and  turns  the  water  into 
steam,  so  the  burning  soul  of  a  man  under  the  influence 
of  its  first  contact  with  the  cold  palm  of  reality,  hisses,  it 
is  true,  from  pain,  but  soon  warms  reality  itself  with  its 
own  heat. 

My  father's  words  wounded  me  at  once,  therefore,  and 
wounded  me  in  a  wonderful  manner,  for  under  their 
influence  I  had  a  feeling  of  offence  not  against  my  father, 
but,  as  it  were,  against  Hania.  In  virtue,  however,  of 
that  internal  resistance  which  exists  only  in  youth,  I 
soon  threw  it  as  far  from  my  soul  as  possible,  and  forever. 
My  father  understood  nothing  of  my  enthusiasm,  and 
ascribed  it  to  excessive  devotion  to  the  duties  confided  to 
me,  which,  moreover,  was  natural  at  my  time  of  life,  and 
which,  instead  of  angering,  simply  flattered  him  and  weak- 
ened his  dislike  to  the  higher  education  of  Hania.  I 
promised  him  to  write  a  letter  to  my  mother,  who  was  to 
remain  abroad  a  good  while  yet,  and  beg  her  to  make 
final  arrangements  in  this  regard.  I  do  not  remember 
that  I  have  ever  written  so  long  and  so  heartfelt  a  letter. 
I  described  the  death  of  old  Mikolai,  his  last  words,  my 
desires,  fears,  and  hopes  ;  I  moved  vigorously  the  chord  of 
compassion  which  was  always  quivering  in  my  mother's 
heart ;  I  depicted  the  disquiet  of  conscience  which  would 
await  me  beyond  doubt,  if  we  should  not  do  for  Hania  all 
that  lay  in  our  power,  —  in  a  word,  according  to  my  opinion 
at  that  time,  my  letter  was  of  its  kind  a  real  masterpiece, 
which  must  produce  its  effect.  Pacified  somewhat  by 
this,  I  waited  patiently  for  an  answer,  which  came  in  two 
letters,  —  one  to  me,  the  other  to  Pani  d'Yves.  I  had  won 
the  battle  at  all  points.  My  mother  not  only  agreed 
to  the  higher  education  of  Hania,  but  enjoined  it  most 
emphatically. 


42  HANIA. 

"  I  should  wish,"  wrote  my  kind  mother,  "  in  case  it 
agrees  with  the  will  of  thy  father,  that  Hania  be  consid- 
ered in  every  way  as  belonging  to  our  family.  We  owe 
this  to  the  memory  of  old  Mikolai,  to  his  devotion  and 
faithfulness. " 

My  triumph  then  was  as  great  as  it  was  complete,  and 
Selim  shared  it  with  me  heartily,  —  Selim,  whom  every- 
thing which  touched  Hania  concerned  as  much  as  if  he 
himself  had  been  her  guardian. 

It  is  true  that  the  sympathy  which  he  felt,  and  the 
tenderness  which  he  exhibited  for  the  orphan,  began  to 
anger  me  a  little,  all  the  more  since  my  own  relations  with 
Hania  had  changed  greatly  since  that  memorable  night 
when  I  had  become  conscious  of  my  feelings.  When  with 
her  I  felt  as  if  convicted  ;  the  former  heartiness  and  child- 
like intimacy  had  vanished  on  my  side  completely.  Barely 
a  few  days  before  the  girl  had  fallen  asleep  quietly  on  my 
breast ;  now  at  the  mere  thought  of  this  the  hair  rose  on 
my  head.  A  few  days  before  at  good-morning  and  good- 
night I  kissed  her  pale  lips  as  a  brother  would;  now  the 
touch  of  her  hand  burned  me,  or  pierced  me  with  a  deli- 
cious quiver.  I  began  to  honor  her  as  the  object  of  first 
love  is  honored  usually  ;  and  when  the  innocent  girl, 
neither  divining  nor  knowing  anything,  nestled  up  to  me 
as  formerly,  I  was  angry  in  my  soul,  though  not  at  her ;  I 
looked  on  myself  as  sacrilegious. 

Love  had  brought  me  unknown  happiness,  but  also 
unknown  suffering.  If  I  had  had  some  one  to  whom  I 
could  confide  my  suffering ;  if  I  had  been  able  at  times  to 
weep  on  some  one's  breast,  an  act  for  which  I  had  often  a 
wonderful  desire,  —  I  should  have  removed  half  the  weight, 
beyond  doubt,  from  my  soul.  I  might  have  confessed  all 
to  Selim,  but  I  feared  his  disposition.  I  knew  that  he 
would  feel  my  words  heartily  at  the  first  moment;  but 


HANIA.  43 

who  could  assure  me  that  next  day  he  would  not  ridicule 
me  with  the  cynicism  peculiar  to  him,  and  with  frivolous 
words  defile  my  ideal,  which  I  dared  not  touch  with  any 
giddy  thought  ?  My  character  had  at  all  times  been  well 
locked  up  in  me ;  besides,  there  was  one  great  difference 
between  me  and  Selim.  I  had  always  been  somewhat 
sentimental ;  Selim  had  not  sentiment  to  the  value  of  a 
copper.  I  could  fall  in  love  only  when  sad,  Selim  only 
when  joyous.  I  concealed  my  love  from  every  one, 
almost  from  myself,  and  really  no  one  discovered  it.  In 
a  few  days,  without  ever  having  seen  any  models,  I  had 
learned  instinctively  to  hide  all  indications  of  that  love, 
such  as  the  confusion  which  often  came  on  me,  and  the 
blushes  with  which  I  was  covered  when  Hania  was 
mentioned  in  my  presence,  —  in  a  word,  I  developed 
immense  cunning,  that  cunning  by  the  aid  of  which  a 
boy  sixteen  years  old  will  often  deceive  the  most  care- 
ful eye  watching  him.  I  had  not  the  least  design  of 
confessing  my  feelings  to  Hania.  I  loved  her,  and  that 
was  sufficient.  Only  at  times,  when  we  were  alone,  some- 
thing urged  me  to  kneel  before  her  and  kiss  the  hem  of 
her  dress. 

Selim  meanwhile  played  his  mad  pranks,  laughed,  was 
witty  and  joyous  for  both  of  us.  He  was  the  first  to  bring 
a  smile  to  Hania's  face,  when  once  at  breakfast  he  pro- 
posed to  Father  Ludvik  to  turn  Mohammedan  and  marry 
Pani  d'Yves.  Neither  the  French  woman,  who  was  rather 
easily  offended,  nor  the  priest,  could  get  angry  with  him ; 
with  her  he  had  made  himself  such  a  favorite  that  when 
he  made  eyes  at  her  and  laughed,  all  ended  in  a  slight 
scolding  and  in  general  merriment.  In  his  treatment  of 
Hania  a  certain  tenderness  and  care  were  evident,  but  in 
this  relation  too  his  innate  joyousness  conquered  every- 
thing. He  was  more  confidential  with  her  than  I.  It  was 


44  HANIA. 

evident  that  Hania  liked  him  much,  for  whenever  he  en- 
tered the  room  she  was  more  cheerful.  He  made  continual 
sport  of  me,  or  rather  of  my  sadness,  taking  it  for  the 
artificial  dignity  of  one  who  wishes  to  be  grown  up  in 
a  hurry. 

"  Look,  all  of  you,  he  will  end  by  becoming  a  priest," 
said  he. 

Then  I  dropped  the  first  thing  I  could,  so  as  to  bend 
down  for  it  and  hide  the  blush  which  covered  my  face ; 
but  Father  Ludvik  took  snuff  and  answered,  — 

"  To  the  honor  of  God  !    to  the  honor  of  God ! " 

Meanwhile  the  Christmas  holidays  were  over.  My  faint 
hope  of  remaining  at  home  was  not  justified  in  the  least. 
On  a  certain  evening  it  was  announced  to  the  great 
guardian  that  next  morning  early  he  must  be  ready  for 
the  road.  There  was  need  of  starting  early,  for  we  had 
to  turn  in  at  Horeli,  where  Selim  was  to  take  farewell  of 
his  father.  So  we  rose  at  six  o'clock  in  the  dark.  Ah ! 
my  soul  was  as  gloomy  as  that  cold  wintry,  windy  morn- 
ing. Selim  was  in  the  worst  humor  also.  As  soon  as  he 
had  crept  out  of  bed,  he  declared  that  the  world  was 
stupid,  and  most  wretchedly  ordered  ;  I  agreed  with  this 
perfectly.  When  we  had  dressed  we  went  from  the  station 
to  the  house  for  breakfast.  It  was  dark  in  the  yard ; 
small  flakes  of  sharp  snow,  whirled  by  the  wind,  struck 
our  faces.  The  windows  of  the  dining-room  were  lighted. 
Before  the  entrance  stood  the  sleigh,  in  which  our  things 
were  packed  already  ;  the  horses  were  shaking  the  bells  ; 
dogs  were  barking  around  the  sleigh.  All  this,  taken 
together,  formed,  at  least  for  us,  a  picture  so  gloomy  that 
the  heart  was  straitened  at  sight  of  it. 

On  entering  the  dining-room  we  found  my  father  and 
the  priest  pacing  up  and  down  with  serious  faces.  Hania 
was  not  there.  I  looked  with  a  throbbing  heart  toward 


HANIA.  45 

the  door  of  the  green  chamber.  Would  she  come,  or 
was  I  to  go  away  without  farewell  ? 

Meanwhile  my  father  and  the  priest  fell  to  giving  us 
advice  and  detailing  morality.  Both  began  with  this, 
that  at  our  age  there  was  no  need  to  repeat  to  us  what 
labor  and  learning  meant ;  still  both  spoke  of  nothing  else. 
I  listened  to  everything  without  the  least  attention, 
chewing  toasted  bread  and  swallowing  with  straitened 
throat  the  heated  wine. 

All  at  once  my  heart  beat  so  powerfully  that  I  could 
hardly  sit  in  my  chair,  for  in  Hania's  room  T  heard  rus- 
tling. The  door  opened,  and  out  came  Pani  d'Yves,  in  a 
wrapper,  her  hair  in  papers ;  she  pressed  my  hand  warmly. 
For  the  disappointment  which  she  had  caused  me  I 
wanted  to  throw  the  glass  of  wine  at  her  head.  She 
expressed  the  hope  that  such  good  youths  would  surely 
learn  perfectly ;  to  this  Selim  answered  that  the  memory 
of  the  papers  in  her  hair  would  give  him  strength  and 
endurance  in  study.  Hania  did  not  show  herself. 

It  was  not  destined  me,  however,  to  drain  the  bitter 
cup.  When  we  rose  from  the  table  Hania  came  out,  look- 
ing drowsy,  yet  all  rosy  and  with  ruffled  hair.  When  I 
pressed  her  hand  while  wishing  good-morning,  it  was  hot. 
Immediately  it  occurred  to  me  that  she  had  a  fever  be- 
cause of  my  departure,  and  I  played  a  tender  scene  in  spirit, 
but  her  fever  was  simply  the  warmth  of  sleep.  After  a 
while  my  father  and  the  priest  went  for  letters  to  be 
delivered  in  Warsaw.  Selim  rode  out  through  the  door  on 
an  immense  dog  which  had  entered  the  room  a  moment 
earlier.  I  was  left  alone  with  Hania.  Tears  were  coming 
to  my  eyes ;  from  my  lips  tender  and  warm  words  were 
rushing  forth.  I  had  no  intention  to  confess  that  I  loved 
her  ;  but  I  was  urged  to  say  something  like  this,  My  dear, 
my  beloved  Hania !  and  to  kiss  her  hands  at  the  same 


46  HANIA. 

time.  That  was  the  only  convenient  moment  for  such 
an  outburst,  though  I  might  give  way  to  it  before  people 
without  drawing  the  attention  of  any  one ;  still  I  did  not 
dare.  I  wasted  that  moment  most  shamefully.  I  drew  near 
to  her  and  stretched  out  my  hand,  but  I  did  so  awkwardly, 
somehow,  and  unnaturally.  "  Hania,"  said  I,  with  a 
voice  so  foreign  to  me  that  I  drew  back  at  once  and  was 
silent.  I  had  the  wish  to  kiss  her  cheek ;  meanwhile  she 
herself  began,  — 

"  My  God !  how  sad  it  will  be  without  the  Panich  !  " 

"  I  will  come  at  Easter,"  said  I,  in  a  low,  strange  bass. 

"  But  it  is  a  long  time  till  Easter." 

"  Not  at  all  long,"  muttered  I. 

At  that  moment  Selim  rushed  in,  and  after  him  came 
my  father,  the  priest,  Pani  d'Yves,  and  some  servants. 
The  words,  "  To  the  sleigh  !  to  the  sleigh ! "  sounded  in 
my  ears.  We  all  went  to  the  porch ;  there  my  father 
and  the  priest  embraced  me.  When  the  time  came  to 
take  leave  of  Hania,  I  had  an  almost  irrestrainable  wish 
to  seize  her  in  my  arms  and  kiss  her  as  of  old ;  but  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  it. 

"  Farewell,  Hania,"  said  I,  giving  her  my  hand,  but  in 
my  soul  a  hundred  voices  were  weeping,  a  hundred  most 
tender  and  fondling  expressions  were  on  my  lips. 

I  saw  on  a  sudden  that  the  girl  was  shedding  tears, 
and  with  equal  suddenness  was  heard  that  stubborn  Satan 
within,  that  irresistible  wish  to  tear  open  my  own  wounds, 
which  later  in  life  I  felt  more  than  once ;  so,  though  my 
heart  was  bursting  into  bits,  I  said  in  a  cold  and  rough 
voice,  — 

"  Do  not  cry  without  reason,  my  Hania."  Then  I  sat 
down  in  the  sleigh. 

Meanwhile  Selim  took  farewell  of  all.  Eunning  up 
to  Hania  he  seized  her  two  hands,  and,  though  the 


HANIA.  47 

girl  tried  to  pull  them  away,  he  kissed  them  wildly, 
first  one  and  then  the  other.  Oh,  what  a  wish  I  had  to 
beat  him  off  at  that  moment  !  When  he  had  kissed 
Hania,  he  sprang  into  the  sleigh.  "  Move  on  ! "  cried 
my  father.  The  priest  blessed  us  with  the  cross  for 
the  road.  The  driver  called  "  Hetta  !  ho  !  "  to  the  horses, 
the  bells  sounded,  the  snow  squeaked  under  the  runners, 
and  we  moved  over  the  road. 

"  Scoundrel !  robber  ! "  said  I  in  my  soul.  "  That  is 
how  thou  didst  take  farewell  of  thy  Hania  !  Thou  wert 
disagreeable  to  her,  scolded  her  for  tears  of  which  thou 
wert  unworthy,  tears  of  an  orphan." 

I  raised  the  collar  of  my  fur  and  cried  like  a  little 
child  in  silence,  for  I  was  afraid  lest  Selim  should  de- 
tect me  in  tears.  It  appeared,  however,  that  Selim  saw 
everything  perfectly ;  but  he  himself  was  moved,  hence 
he  said  nothing  at  first.  But  we  had  not  gone  so  far  as 
Horeli  when  he  called, — 

"  Henryk ! " 

"  What  ? " 

"  Thou  art  blubbering  ? " 

"  Let  me  alone." 

Again  there  was  silence  between  us.  But  after  a  while 
Selim  again  said,  — 

"  Henryk  ! " 

"  What  ? " 

"  Thou  art  blubbering  ?  " 

I  made  no  answer ;  suddenly  Selim  bent  down,  took  a 
handful  of  snow,  raised  my  cap,  spread  the  snow  on  my 
head,  and  covered  it  again,  saying,  — 

"  That  will  cool  thee  !  " 


48  HANIA. 


CHAPTEK   IV. 

I  DID  not  go  home  at  Easter,  for  the  approaching 
examination  for  maturitas  stood  in  the  way.  Be- 
sides, my  father  wished  me  to  pass  the  preliminary 
examination  before  the  beginning  of  the  University  year. 
He  knew  that  I  would  not  like  to  work  in  vacation,  and 
that  beyond  doubt  I  should  forget  at  least  one  half  of  what 
I  had  learned  in  school,  so  I  worked  very  vigorously. 
Besides  the  ordinary  lessons  in  the  gymnasium  and  the 
work  for  the  examination,  Selim  and  I  took  private 
lessons  from  a  student  who,  as  he  had  entered  the  Uni- 
versity not  long  before,  knew  best  what  we  needed. 

This  for  me  was  a  memorable  time,  for  in  it  fell 
the  whole  structure  of  my  thoughts  and  imagining, 
reared  so  laboriously  by  Father  Ludvik,  my  father,  and 
the  whole  atmosphere  of  our  quiet  house. 

The  young  student  was  a  radical  in  every  regard. 
While  explaining  the  history  of  Rome,  he  knew  so  well 
how  to  explain  his  disgust  and  contempt  for  the  great 
oligarchy  during  the  reforms  of  the  Gracchi  that  my 
arch-noble  convictions  were  swept  away  like  smoke. 
With  what  profound  faith  my  young  teacher  declared, 
for  example,  that  a  man  who  was  soon  to  occupy  the 
powerful  and  in  every  sense  influential  position  of  stu- 
dent at  the  University  should  be  free  from  all  "preju- 
dices," and  not  look  on  anything  save  with  the  compas- 
sion of  a  genuine  philosopher. 

In  general  he  was  of  opinion  that  for  the  regulation 
of  the  world,  and  for  the  exercise  of  a  mighty  influence 
on  all  people,  a  man  is  best  between  the  eighteenth  and 
twenty-third  year  of  his  life,  for  later  he  becomes  gradu- 
ally an  idiot  or  a  conservative. 


HANIA.  49 

Of  those  who  were  neither  students  nor  professors  of 
the  University,  he  spoke  with  compassion;  but  he  had 
ideals,  which  never  left  his  lips.  From  him  I  learned 
for  the  first  time  of  the  existence  of  Moleschotte  and 
Biichner,  —  two  men  of  science  whom  he  cited  oftenest. 
One  should  hear  with  what  ardor  our  preceptor  spoke 
of  the  conquests  of  science  in  recent  times,  of  great 
truths  which  the  blind  superstitious  past  had  avoided, 
and  which  the  most  recent  scholars  had  raised  "  from  the 
dust  of  oblivion "  and  announced  to  the  world  with  un- 
paralleled courage. 

While  uttering  these  opinions  he  shook  his  thick, 
curly  foretop,  and  smoked  an  incredible  number  of 
cigarettes,  assuring  us  that  he  was  so  trained  that  it  was 
all  one  to  him  whether  he  let  the  smoke  out  through 
his  mouth  or  his  nostrils,  and  that  there  was  not  in 
Warsaw  another  man  who  could  smoke  in  that  fashion. 
Then  he  rose  usually,  put  on  his  cloak,  which  lacked 
more  than  half  its  buttons,  and  declared  that  he  must 
hurry,  for  he  had  another  "  little  meeting."  Saying  this, 
he  winked  mysteriously  and  added  that  Selim's  age 
and  mine  did  not  permit  him  to  communicate  to  us 
nearer  information  about  this  "  little  meeting,"  but  that 
later  and  without  his  explanation  we  should  understand 
its  meaning. 

Notwithstanding  all  this  which  would  not  have  pleased 
our  parents  much,  the  young  student  had  his  really 
good  sides.  He  understood  well  what  he  was  teaching 
us,  and  besides  he  was  a  real  fanatic  of  science.  He 
wore  boots  with  holes  in  them,  a  threadbare  coat,  a  cap 
which  was  like  an  old  nest ;  lie  never  had  a  copper  on 
his  person  ;  but  his  mind  never  dwelt  on  his  personal 
cares,  poverty,  want  almost.  He  lived  through  a  passion 
for  science ;  of  a  joyous  life  for  himself  he  had  no  thought. 

4 


50  HANIA. 

Selim  and  I  looked  on  him  as  some  higher  supernatural 
personage,  as  an  ocean  of  wisdom,  as  an  immovable 
weight.  We  believed  sacredly  that  if  any  one  could 
save  humanity  in  case  of  danger,  it  was  surely  he, 
that  imposing  genius,  who,  'beyond  doubt,  was  of  this 
opinion  himself.  But  we  clung  to  his  convictions  as  to 
bird-lime. 

As  to  me,  I  went  farther,  perhaps,  than  even  my  mas- 
ter. That  was  the  natural  reaction  against  rny  previous 
education ;  and,  besides,  the  student  had  really  opened  be- 
fore me  gates  to  new  worlds  of  knowledge,  in  comparison 
with  which  the  circle  of  my  ideas  was  very  narrow. 
Dazzled  by  these  new  truths,  I  had  not  many  thoughts 
and  fancies  to  devote  to  Hania.  At  first,  and  immedi- 
ately after  coming,  I  did  not  part  with  my  ideal.  The 
letters  which  I  received  from  her  fed  that  fire  on  the 
altar  of  my  heart ;  but,  compared  with  the  ocean  of  ideas 
of  the  young  student,  all  our  village  world,  so  calm  and 
quiet,  began  at  once  to  grow  little  and  diminish  in  my 
eyes.  Hania's  form  did  not  vanish,  it  is  true,  but  was 
enwrapped,  as  it  were,  in  a  light  mist. 

As  to  Selim,  he  advanced  also  by  the  earthly  road  of 
violent  reforms  ;  but  of  Hania  he  thought  less,  since  oppo- 
site our  quarters  was  a  window  in  which  sat  a  school- 
girl named  Yozia.  Indeed,  Selim  began  to  sigh  at  her, 
and  for  whole  days  they  looked  at  each  other  from 
the  two  windows,  like  two  birds  in  two  cages.  Selim 
repeated  with  unshaken  certainty,  "  this  one  or  none." 
Frequently  it  happened  that  he  would  lie  face  and 
hands  on  the  bed  and  study,  then  throw  his  book  on 
the  floor,  spring  up,  seize  me,  and  cry,  laughing  like  a 
madman,  — 

"  Oh,  my  Yozia  !  how  I  love  thee  !  " 

"  Go  to  the  plague,  Selirn  ! "  I  would  say  to  him. 


HANIA.  51 

"  Oh,  it  is  thou,  not  Yozia,"  he  would  answer  roguishly, 
and  return  to  his  book. 

At  last  came  the  days  of  examination.  Selim  and  I  passed 
both  the  final  examination  of  the  gymnasium  and  the  one 
for  entrance  to  the  University  very  favorably  ;  after  that 
we  were  as  free  as  birds,  but  we  stayed  three  days  longer 
in  Warsaw.  We  used  that  time  for  getting  students'  uni- 
forms, and  for  a  solemnity  which  our  master  considered 
indispensable ;  that  is,  a  feast  for  three  in  the  first  wine- 
cellar  that  we  came  to. 

After  the  second  bottle,  when  Selim's  head  and  mine 
were  turning,  and  when  to  the  cheeks  of  our  master,  now 
a  comrade,  a  flush  came,  we  were  seized  by  a  sudden  and 
uncommon  tenderness,  combined  with  an  inclination  to 
confessions  of  the  heart. 

"Well,  ye  have  come  out  among  people,  my  boys,"  said 
the  master,  "  and  the  world  stands  open  before  you. 
Ye  can  amuse  yourselves  now,  throw  away  money,  play 
the  lord,  fall  in  love ;  but  I  tell  you  that  these  are  follies. 
A  life  on  the  surface,  without  an  idea  for  which  a  man 
lives,  toils,  and  struggles,  is  folly.  But  to  live  wisely 
or  to  live  reasonably,  and  to  struggle  wisely,  one  should 
look  on  things  soberly.  As  to  me,  I  think  that  I  look  on 
them  soberly.  I  believe  in  nothing  which  I  cannot  touch 
myself,  and  I  advise  the  same  to  you.  God  knows  there 
are  so  many  ways  of  living  and  thinking  in  the  world, 
and  all  in  such  confusion,  that  one  needs  the  devil  knows 
what  kind  of  head  to  avoid  error.  But  I  hold  fast  to 
science,  and  that 's  the  end  of  it.  They  will  not  entrap 
me  with  trifles.  That  life  is  foolish,  over  this  theme  I  shall 
not  break  a  bottle  on  any  man's  head ;  but  we  have  science. 
Had  we  not,  I  would  shoot  myself.  Every  one  has  the 
right  to  do  that,  as  I  think ;  and  I  will  shoot  myself 
surely  if  I  grow  bankrupt  to  that  degree.  But  on  my 


52  HANIA. 

foundation  one  will  not  be  bankrupt.  Thou  wilt  be 
deceived  in  everything :  fall  in  love,  the  woman  will 
deceive  thee;  have  religion,  the  moment  of  doubt  will 
come ;  but  thou  mayst  sit  quietly  till  death  investigat- 
ing the  canal  of  the  nutritive  infusoria,  and  wilt 
not  even  notice  how  on  a  certain  day  the  world  will 
stupidly  grow  somehow  and  somehow  dark  to  thee,  and 
then  the  end,  —  the  water  clock,  the  portrait  in  the  illus- 
trated paper,  the  more  or  less  dull  biography,  and  the 
comedy  will  be  over !  After  that  there  will  be  nothing. 
1  can  give  you  my  word  on  that,  my  little  fellows.  Ye 
may  be  bold  in  believing  in  no  nonsense.  Science  is  my 
fiddle-bow  ;  Science  is  the  foundation.  Meanwhile  all  this 
has  the  good  side,  —  that  if  thou  occupy  thyself  with  such 
things,  thou  mayst  go  about  in  broken  boots  boldly  and 
sleep  on  a  hay-loft.  It  will  make  no  difference  to  thee. 
Do  ye  understand  ? " 

"  To  the  health  and  honor  of  science  ! "  cried  Selim, 
whose  eyes  were  gleaming  like  coals. 

Our  master  pushed  back  his  immense  woolly  forelock, 
emptied  his  goblet,  then  inhaling  smoke  he  let  two 
enormous  currents  of  it  out  through  his  nostrils,  and 
continued,  — 

"  Besides  exact  sciences  —  Selim,  thou  art  drunk  !  —  be- 
sides exact  sciences  there  is  philosophy,  and  there  are  ideas. 
With  these  life  is  filled  to  the  brirn.  But  I  prefer  exact 
sciences.  Philosophy,  and  especialy  ideal- real  philosophy, 
I  tell  you  that  I  revile  it.  It  is  guess-work.  A  man  is 
pursuing  truth,  as  it  were,  but  pursuing  it  as  a  dog  pur- 
sues his  own  tail.  In  general  I  cannot  endure  guess-work. 
I  love  facts.  Thou  canst  not  squeeze  whey  out  of  water. 
As  to  ideas,  that  is  another  thing.  For  them  it  is  worth 
while  to  lay  down  one's  head ;  but  ye  and  your  fathers  travel 
by  stupid  ways.  I  tell  you  that.  Long  life  to  ideas  ! " 


HANIA.  53 

We  emptied  our  goblets  again.  Our  forelocks  were 
steaming.  The  dark  room  of  the  cellar  seemed  still 
darker;  the  candles  on  the  table  burned  with  a  faint 
light ;  smoke  hid  the  pictures  on  the  walls.  Outside  the 
window  in  the  yard  an  old  beggar  was  singing  the  pious 
hymn,  "  Holy,  heavenly,  angelic  Lady  ! "  and  in  the  pauses 
he  played  a  plaintive  minstrel  melody  on  a  fiddle.  Won- 
derful feelings  filled  my  breast.  I  believed  the  words  of 
the  master,  but  I  felt  that  he  had  not  told  everything  yet 
which  could  fill  out  one's  life.  Something  was  lacking. 
A  species  of  melancholy  possessed  me  in  spite  of  myself ; 
so  under  the  influence  of  imagination,  wine,  and  momen- 
tary enthusiasm  I  said  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  But  women,  gentlemen  !  a  loving  woman,  devoted, 
who  stops  at  nothing  in  life  ? " 

Selim  began  to  sing,  — 

"  Woman  is  changeable : 
Stupid  the  man  who  believes  in  her ! " 

Our  master  looked  at  me  with  a  peculiar  expression. 
He  was  thinking  of  something  else,  but  soon  he  shook 
himself  and  said,  — 

"  Oh,  ho !  thou  hast  shown  the  tip  of  the  sentimental 
ear.  Knowest  thou,  that  Selim  will  go  much  farther  in 
the  world  than  thou.  The  deuce  will  take  thee.  Guard 
thyself,  guard  thyself,  I  say,  lest  some  petticoat  crawl  into 
thy  path  and  spoil  thy  life.  Woman  !  woman ! "  (here  the 
master  blinked  according  to  his  custom),  "  I  know  that 
ware  somewhat.  I  cannot  complain ;  God  knows  I  can- 
not. But  I  know  this  too,  that  thou  must  not  give  thy 
finger  to  the  devil,  for  right  away  he  will  take  thy  whole 
hand.  Woman  !  love !  all  our  misfortune  is  in  this,  that 
we  make  great  things  out  of  nonsense.  If  thou  wish  to 
amuse  thyself  as  I  do,  amuse  thyself,  but  don't  put  thy 


54  HANIA. 

life  in  it.  Have  reason  at  once,  and  do  not  pay  good  coin 
for  false  goods.  Do  ye  think  that  I  complain  of  women  ? 
I  do  not  even  dream  of  doing  so.  On  the  contrary,  I  love 
them ;  hut  I  do  not  let  myself  be  taken  by  chaff  of  my  own 
imagining.  I  remember  when  I  fell  in  love  the  first  time 
with  a  certain  Lola,  I  thought,  for  example,  that  her  dress 
was  sacred,  but  it  was  calico.  That 's  the  point.  Was  it 
her  fault  that  she  walked  in  mud  instead  of  flying  through 
the  heavens  ?  No !  it  was  I  who  was  stupid,  through 
putting  wings  on  her  by  force.  Man  is  rather  a  limited 
beast.  One  or  another  of  us  carries  God  knows  what 
ideal  in  his  heart,  and  therewith  feels  a  need  of  loving ; 
hence  on  seeing  the  first  little  goose  that  he  meets,  he  says 
to  himself,  'That  is  she.'  Afterward  he  finds  out  that 
he  has  made  a  mistake,  and  because  of  that  small  mis- 
take the  devil  takes  him,  or  he  lives  an  idiot  all  his 
life." 

"  But  you  will  acknowledge,"  said  I,  "  that  a  man  feels 
the  need  of  loving,  and  surely  you  feel  that  need  as  well 
as  others." 

A  scarcely  discernible  smile  shot  across  his  lips. 

"  Every  necessity  may  be  satisfied,"  answered  he,  "  in 
various  ways.  I  help  myself  in  my  own  way.  I  have 
said  that  I  do  not  look  on  stupid  things  as  great.  I  am 
sober,  God  knows,  more  sober  than  at  this  moment.  But 
I  have  seen  many  men  who  have  broken  their  lives,  or 
snarled  them  up,  like  a  thread,  for  one  woman ;  so  I  say 
that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  put  all  one's  life  in  that.  I 
say  that  there  are  better  things,  loftier  objects,  and  that 
love  is  a  trifling-  matter.  To  the  health  of  sobriety  !" 

"  To  the  health  of  women  !  "  shouted  Selim. 

"  Very  good ;  let  us  have  that,"  answered  our  master. 
"They  are  agreeable  creatures,  only  take  them  not  too 
seriously.  To  the  health  of  women !" 


HANIA.  55 

"  To  the  health  of  Yozia  !  "  cried  I,  touching  Selim's 
glass. 

"  Wait !  Now  is  my  turn,"  answered  he.  "  To  the 
health  of  thy  Hania !  one  deserves  the  other." 

The  blood  began  to  play  in  me,  and  sparks  flashed  from 
my  eyes. 

"  Be  silent,  Selim,"  cried  I.  "  Do  not  mention  that 
name  before  me  in  this  shop ! " 

Then  I  threw  my  glass  to  the  floor,  and  it  broke  into  a 
thousand  bits. 

"Hast  gone  mad?  "  cried  our  master. 

I  had  not  gone  mad  at  all,  but  anger  had  sprung  up  in 
me  and  was  blazing  like  a  flame.  I  could  listen  to  every- 
thing which  the  master  said  about  women ;  I  could  even 
take  pleasure  in  it ;  I  could  ridicule  them  with  others.  I 
could  do  that  because  I  did  not  connect  the  words  and 
the  ridicule  with  any  one  of  my  own,  and  because  it  did 
not  even  come  to  my  mind  that  the  general  theory  was 
to  be  applied  to  persons  dear  to  me.  But  when  I  heard 
the  name  of  my  purest  orphan  bandied  about  frivolously 
in  that  room,  amid  smoke,  dirt,  empty  bottles,  corks,  and 
cynical  conversation,  I  thought  that  I  had  heard  some 
abominable  sacrilege,  some  defilement,  some  wrong 
wrought  against  Hania,  and  from  anger  I  almost  lost  self- 
control. 

Selim  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  with  astonishment,  and 
then  his  face  began  to  grow  dark  quickly,  his  eyes  shot 
sparks,  on  his  forehead  came  out  knots  of  veins,  his  fea- 
tures extended  and  became  sharp  as  those  of  a  real  Tartar. 

"  Thou  dost  forbid  me  to  say  what  I  please  ? "  cried  he, 
in  a  deep  voice,  broken  by  panting  breath. 

Luckily  the  master  rushed  between  us  at  this  moment. 

"  Ye  are  not  worthy  of  the  uniforms  which  ye  wear ! 
What  is  this  ?  Ye  will  fight,  or  pull  each  other  by  the 


56  HANIA. 

ears,  like  school-boys  ?  Yes,  philosophers  who  break 
glasses  on  each  other's  heads.  Be  ashamed  of  yourselves ! 
Ye  are  persons  with  Whom  to  talk  touching  universal 
questions !  Be  ashamed  of  yourselves !  From  the  war 
of  ideas  to  a  war  of  fists.  Stop  !  But  I  will  say  that  I 
proposed  a  toast  in  honor  of  universities ;  and  that  ye  are 
drones  if  ye  will  not  make  peace,  and  if  ye  leave  even  a 
drop  in  the  glasses." 

We  recovered.  But  Selim,  though  more  drunk,  recov- 
ered first. 

"  I  implore  thy  pardon,"  said  he,  in  a  tender  voice.  "  I 
am  a  fool." 

We  embraced  heartily,  and  emptied  the  glasses  to  the 
bottom  to  the  honor  of  universities.  Then  our  master 
intoned  Gaudeamus.  Through  the  glass  doors  leading 
to  the  cellar,  merchants  began  to  look  in.  It  was 
growing  dark  outside.  We  were  all  what  is  called  tipsy. 
Our  joyfulness  rose  to  the  zenith  and  then  descended 
gradually.  Our  master  was  the  first  who  fell  into  medi- 
tation, and  after  a  while  he  said,  — 

"  All  this  is  well,  but,  taking  everything  together,  life 
is  stupid.  These  are  all  artificial  means  ;  but  as  to  what 
happens  in  the  soul,  that  is  another  thing.  To-morrow 
will  be  like  to-day :  the  same  misery,  four  naked  walls, 
the  hay-loft,  broken  boots,  and  —  so  on  without  end. 
Labor  and  labor,  but  happiness?  A  man  deceives 
himself  as  best  he  can  and  deadens  —  Farewell ! " 

So  saying,  he  put  his  cap  with  broken  crown  on  his 
head,  executed  a  few  mechanical  motions  which  had  for 
object  the  buttoning  of  his  coat  with  buttons  which  did 
not  exist,  lighted  his  cigarette,  and  waving  his  hand 
said,  — 

"  But  do  ye  pay  here,  for  I  am  naked,  and  be  in  good 
health.  Ye  may  remember  me  or  not,  —  all  one  to 


HANIA.  57 

me.  I  am  not  sentimental.  Be  in  good  health,  my 
honest  boys  —  " 

He  uttered  the  last  words  in  a  low  and  emotional 
voice,  as  if  to  contradict  the  statement  that  he  was  not 
sentimental.  The  poor  heart  needed  love,  and  was  as 
capable  of  it  as  any  other  heart;  but  misfortune  from 
years  of  childhood,  poverty,  and  the  indifference  of  people 
had  taught  that  heart  to  withdraw  into  itself.  His  soul 
was  a  proud  one,  though  ardent,  hence  always  full  of  fear 
of  being  rejected  should  it  incline  first  to  some  person  too 
cordially. 

We  remained  alone  for  a  while,  and  under  the  influ- 
ence of  a  certain  sadness.  Those  were  perhaps  gloomy 
forebodings,  for  we  were  not  to  see  our  poor  master 
again  in  life.  Neither  he  nor  we  divined  that  in  his 
breast  had  been  inherent  for  a  long  time  elements  of 
mortal  disease,  from  which  there  was  no  rescue.  Misery, 
too  much  exertion,  feverish  labor  over  books,  sleepless 
nights,  and  hunger  had  hastened  the  crisis. 

In  the  autumn,  at  the  beginning  of  October,  our  mas- 
ter died  of  consumption.  Not  many  comrades  followed 
his  coffin,  for  it  was  the  time  of  vacation ;  but  his  poor 
mother,  a  dealer  in  wax  candles  and  holy  images  under 
the  Dominican  church,  wept  aloud  for  the  son  whom 
often  she  had  not  understood  during  life,  though,  like  a 
mother,  she  loved  him. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

THE  next  day  after  that  feast,  horses  came  from  the 
old  Mirza  in  Horeli,  and  we  set  out  for  home  on 
the  following  morning.      We  had   two  long  days'  ride 
before  us,  so  we  started  at  dawn.     In  our  stone  house 


58  HANIA. 

everything  was  asleep  yet;  but  in  the  place  opposite 
Yozia's  face  gleamed  in  the  window,  amid  geraniums, 
yellow  violets,  and  fuchsias.  Selim,  when  he  had  put 
on  his  travelling  bag  and  student's  cap,  stood  in  the 
window,  ready  for  the  road,  to  announce  that  he  was 
going ;  to  this  an  answer  was  given  from  among  the  gera- 
niums by  a  melancholy  glance.  But  when  he  placed 
one  hand  on  his  heart  and  sent  a  kiss  with  the  other, 
the  face  between  the  flowers  grew  red  and  pushed  back 
quickly  into  the  dark  interior  of  the  room. 

Below,  on  the  pavement  of  the  yard,  a  brichka,  drawn 
by  four  sturdy  horses,  rolled  in.  It  was  time  to  take 
farewell  and  sit  in  the  wagon ;  but  Selim  waited,  and 
stood  in  the  window  persistently,  hoping  to  see  some- 
thing more.  Hope  deceived  him,  however  ;  the  window 
remained  empty.  Only  when  we  had  descended  and  were 
passing  the  dark  entrance  of  the  building  opposite,  did 
we  see  on  the  steps  two  white  stockings,  a  nut-colored 
dress,  a  bosom  bent  forward,  and  two  bright  eyes  shaded 
by  a  hand ;  the  eyes  were  looking  out  of  darkness  into 
daylight. 

Selim  rushed  at  once  to  the  entrance.  I  took  my  seat 
in  the  brichka  right  there  close  by;  I  heard  whispers 
and  certain  sounds  very  similar  to  the  sound  of  kisses. 
Then  Selim  came  out  blushing,  half  laughing,  half  moved, 
and  sat  by  my  side.  The  driver  struck  the  horses. 
Selim  and  I  looked  involuntarily  toward  the  window. 
Yozia's  face  was  among  the  flowers  again ;  a  moment 
more  and  a  hand  holding  a  white  handkerchief  was 
thrust  forth  ;  one  more  sign  of  farewell,  and  the  brichka 
rolled  out  onto  the  street,  taking  with  it  me  and  the 
beautiful  ideal  of  poor  Yozia. 

It  was  very  early  in  the  morning.  The  city  was  in 
slumber ;  the  rosy  light  of  dawn  passed  along  the  win- 


HANIA.  59 

dows  of  the  sleeping  houses.  Only  here  and  there  an 
early  bird,  a  passer-by,  roused  with  his  steps  a  drowsy 
echo ;  here  and  there  a  guard  was  sweeping  the  street ; 
sometimes  a  cart  was  heard  coming  from  some  village 
to  the  city  market.  Beyond  this  it  was  noiseless,  but 
clear  and  breezy,  as  is  usual  on  a  summer  morning. 

Our  light  brichka,  drawn  by  four  horses,  bounded 
along  the  pavement,  like  a  nutshell  pulled  by  a  string. 
Soon  the  cool  breath  of  the  river  surrounded  our  faces ; 
the  bridge  resounded  under  the  hoofs  of  our  horses ;  and 
half  an  hour  later  we  were  beyond  the  barriers  among 
broad  fields,  and  wheat,  and  forests. 

Our  breasts  breathed  deeply  of  the  splendid  morning 
air,  and  our  eyes  feasted  on  the  region  about.  The  earth 
had  wakened  from  sleep ;  pearly  dew  was  hanging  on  the 
wet  leaves  of  the  trees  and  glittering  on  every  ear  of 
wheat.  In  the  hedges  the  birds  moved  about  joyously 
with  noisy  chirping  and  twittering,  greeting  the  beauti- 
ful day.  The  forests  and  meadows  were  coming  out  of 
the  mist  of  morning,  as  if  out  of  swathing  bands.  Here 
and  there  on  the  meadows,  water  was  gleaming ;  through 
this  storks  waded  among  the  golden  flowers  of  the 
water-lily.  Rosy  smoke  went  straight  up  from  the 
chimneys  of  village  cottages  ;  a  light  breeze  bent  in  waves 
the  yellow  fields  of  ripening  wheat,  and  shook  the  damp- 
ness of  night  from  them.  Joy  was  poured  out  every- 
where ;  it  seemed  that  all  was  waking,  living ;  that  the 
whole  region  around  was  singing,  — 

"  When  the  morning  dawn  arises, 
To  thee  the  land,  to  thee  the  sea  —  " 

What  was  taking  place  then  in  our  hearts,  every  one  will 
understand  easily  who  remembers  how  in  youth  he 
returned  home  on  such  a  wonderful  summer  morning. 


60  HANIA. 

The  years  of  childhood  and  the  subjection  of  school  were 
behind  us ;  the  age  of  youth  was  spread  out  broadly, 
as  a  rich,  flowery  steppe,  with  an  endless  horizon,  —  a 
curious  and  unknown  land  into  which  we  had  started 
on  a  journey  with  good  omens,  youthful,  strong,  almost 
with  wings  on  our  shoulders,  like  young  eagles.  Of 
earthly  treasures  the  greatest  is  youth,  and  of  that  treas- 
ure with  all  its  wealth  we  had  not  spent  yet  a  single 
copper. 

We  passed  the  road  quickly,  for  at  the  chief  stopping- 
places  relays  of  horses  were  waiting  for  us.  Toward 
evening  of  the  second  day,  after  riding  all  night,  we  drove 
out  of  a  forest  and  saw  Horeli,  or  rather  the  pointed 
summit  of  the  domestic  minaret,  shining  in  the  rays  of 
the  setting  sun.  Soon  we  came  out  onto  a  dam,  bordered 
with  willows  and  privet,  on  both  sides  of  which  were 
two  immense  ponds  with  grist-mills  and  saw-mills.  We 
were  accompanied  by  the  drowsy  croaking  of  frogs, 
swimming  in  water  warmed  by  the  heat  of  the  sun  and 
along  banks  overgrown  with  grass.  It  was  clear  that  the 
day  was  inclining  to  its  rest.  Herds  of  cattle  and  flocks 
of  sheep,  hidden  in  clouds  of  dust,  were  returning  by  the 
dam  to  the  buildings  of  the  farmyard.  Here  and  there 
crowds  of  people  with  sickles,  scythes,  and  rakes  on  their 
shoulders  were  hurrying  homeward,  singing,  "  Dana,  oi 
dana  !  "  Those  honest  toilers  stopped  the  brichka,  kissed 
Selim's  hands,  and  greeted  him  warmly. 

Soon  the  sun  inclined  still  more  toward  setting  and 
hid  half  its  bright  shield  behind  the  reeds.  Only  one 
broad  golden  line  of  light  was  reflected  yet  on  the 
middle  of  the  ponds,  on  the  banks  of  which  the  trees 
looked  into  the  smooth  surface.  We  turned  to  the  right 
a  little;  and  soon,  amid  lindens,  poplars,  firs,  and  ash- 
trees,  shone  the  white  walls  of  the  mansion  of  Horeli. 


HANIA.  ei 

In  the  yard  was  heard  the  bell  calling  workmen  to  sup- 
per ;  and  from  the  minaret  came  the  pensive  voice  of  the 
domestic  muezzin,  announcing  that  starry  night  was 
falling  from  the  sky  to  the  earth,  and  that  Allah  is 
great.  As  if  to  accompany  the  muezzin,  a  stork,  stand- 
ing, like  an  Etruscan  vase,  in  a  nest  on  the  top  of  a  tree 
above  the  roof  of  the  mansion,  issued  for  a  while  from  his 
statuesque  repose,  raised  to  the  sky  a  bill  which  was  like 
a  bronze  arrow,  then  dropped  it  on  his  breast  and  rattled, 
shaking  his  head  as  if  in  greeting. 

I  looked  at  Selim.  There  were  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
his  face  shone  with  a  sweetness  beyond  compare,  peculiar 
to  him  alone.  We  drove  into  the  yard. 

Before  the  windowed  porch  sat  the  old  Mirza,  drawing 
blue  smoke  from  his  pipe  ;  he  was  looking  with  a  joyful 
eye  at  the  calm  and  industrious  life  moving  on  that  charm- 
ing landscape.  When  he  saw  his  son  he  sprang  up  quickly, 
caught  him  in  his  arms,  and  pressed  him  long  to  his 
breast,  for  though  he  was  stern  to  the  boy  he  loved  him 
beyond  everything.  He  asked  at  once  about  his  exami- 
nation ;  then  followed  new  embraces.  All  the  numerous 
servants  ran  in  then  to  meet  the  Panich,  and  the  dogs 
sprang  joyously  around  him.  A  tame  she-wolf,  a  favor- 
ite of  the  old  Mirza,  jumped  from  the  porch.  "  Zula  ! 
Zula  ! "  called  Selim,  and  she  put  her  great  paws  on  his 
shoulders,  licked  his  face,  and  then  ran  around  him  as 
if  mad,  whining  and  showing  her  terrible  teeth  from 
delight. 

Now  we  went  to  the  dining-room.  I  looked  at  Horeli 
and  everything  in  it,  like  a  man  thirsting  for  novelty. 
Nothing  in  it  had  been  modified  ;  the  portraits  of  Selim's 
ancestors,  captains,  bannerets,  hung  on  the  walls.  The 
terrible  Mirza,  Sobieski's  colonel  of  light  horse,  looked  on 
me  as  before  with  his  ominous,  slanting  eyes;  but  his 


62  HANIA. 

countenance,  slashed  with  sabres,  looked  still  uglier  and 
very  terrible.  Selim's  father  had  changed  most.  From 
being  black,  his  forelock  had  grown  iron  gray,  his  thick 
mustache  had  become  almost  white,  and  the  Tartar 
type  appeared  with  increasing  distinctness  in  his  features. 
Ah,  what  a  difference  between  the  father  and  the  son, 
between  that  bony  face,  stern,  even  harsh,  and  that  face 
simply  angelic,  resembling  a  flower,  fresh  and  sweet !  But 
it  is  difficult  for  me  to  describe  that  love  with  which  the 
old  man  looked  upon  Selim,  and  with  which  his  eyes 
followed  every  movement  of  his  son. 

Not  wishing  to  interrupt  them,  I  remained  at  one  side  ; 
but  the  old  man,  as  hospitable  as  a  genuine  Polish  noble, 
seized  me  at  once,  embraced  me,  and  tried  to  detain  me 
for  the  night.  I  would  not  pass  the  night  there,  for  I 
was  in  a  hurry  to  reach  home,  but  I  had  to  stay  for 
supper. 

I  left  Horeli  late  in  the  evening,  and  when  I  was  near 
home  the  triangle  had  risen  in  the  sky  ;  that  meant  that 
it  was  midnight.  Windows  in  the  village  were  not 
lighted ;  fire  in  a  tar-pit  near  the  forest  was  visible  from 
a  distance.  Dogs  were  barking  at  the  cottages.  In  the 
alley  of  linden-trees,  which  extended  to  our  house,  it  was 
dark  ;  even  strain  out  thine  eyes  thou  couldst  see  nothing. 
A  man  passed  at  one  side  humming  a  song  in  low  tones, 
but  I  did  not  see  his  face.  I  reached  the  porch  ;  the  win- 
dows were  dark.  Clearly  all  were  asleep ;  but  dogs,  dashing 
out  from  all  sides,  began  to  bark  round  the  brichka  in  glad- 
ness. I  sprang  down  and  knocked  at  the  door ;  I  could 
not  make  any  one  hear  for  a  long  time.  At  last  this  be- 
came disagreeable ;  I  had  thought  that  they  would  be 
waiting  for  me.  Only  after  a  time  did  a  light  begin  to 
flit  here  and  there  past  the  window-panes,  and  then  a 
drowsy  voice,  which  I  recognized  as  Franek's,  inquired,  — 


HANIA.  63 

"Who  is  there?" 

I  answered.  Franek  opened  the  door  and  fell  to  kissing 
my  hands  at  once.  . 

"  Are  all  well  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Well,"  answered  Franek ;  "  but  the  old  lord  has  gone 
to  the  city,  and  will  return  only  to-morrow." 

Thus  speaking,  he  conducted  me  to  the  dining-room, 
lighted  a  hanging  lamp  over  the  table,  and  went  to  make 
tea.  I  was  alone  for  a  while  with  my  thoughts,  and  with 
my  heart  beating  quickly.  But  that  while  was  of  short 
duration,  for  Father  Ludvik  ran  in,  in  a  dressing-gown  ; 
the  honest  Pani  d'Yves,  dressed  also  in  white,  with  her 
usual  papers  and  in  a  cap ;  and  Kazio,  who  had  come 
from  school  for  vacation  a  month  earlier.  The  honest 
hearts  greeted  me  with  feeling,  admired  my  growth; 
the  priest  insisted  that  I  had  grown  manly,  Pani  d'Yves 
that  I  had  grown  comely. 

Father  Ludvik,  poor  man,  inquired  only  after  some 
time,  and  then  timidly,  about  examination  and  my  school 
diploma.  When  he  heard  of  my  successes  he  just  wept, 
taking  me  in  his  arms  and  calling  me  his  dear  boy. 
And  now  from  the  chamber  came  the  patter  of  small 
naked  feet,  and  my  two  little  sisters  ran  in,  in  their 
night-dresses  and  little  caps,  repeating,  "  Henlis  has 
come  !  Henlis  has  come  !  "  and  they  sprang  on  my  knees. 
In  vain  did  Pani  d'Yves  put  them  to  shame,  saying  that 
it  was  an  unheard  of  thing  for  two  young  ladies  (one 
was  eight,  the  other  nine)  to  show  themselves  to  people 
in  such  "dishabille."  The  two,  without  saying  a  word, 
put  their  little  arms  around  my  neck  and  pressed  their 
mouths  to  my  cheeks.  After  a  while  I  asked  timidly 
about  Hania. 

"  Oh,  she  has  grown  ! "  answered  Pani  d'Yves.  "  She 
will  come  right  away  ;  she  is  dressing,  I  think." 


64  EANIA. 

In  fact,  I  did  not  wait  long,  for  five  minutes  later, 
perhaps,  Hania  entered  the  room.  I  looked  at  her ;  and, 
oh,  what  had  become  in  half  a  year  of  that  slender,  thin 
orphan  of  sixteen  ?  Before  me  stood  an  almost  mature, 
or  at  least  maturing  young  lady.  Her  form  had  grown 
full,  rounded  marvellously.  She  had  a  delicate  but 
healthy  complexion ;  on  her  cheeks  was  ruddiness,  as  it 
were,  the  reflection  of  the  morning  dawn.  Health,  youth, 
freshness,  charm,  were  radiating  from  her,  as  from  a  rose 
at  its  opening.  I  noticed  that  she  looked  at  me  curiously 
with  her  large  blue  eyes  ;  but  I  saw  also  that  she  must 
have  understood  my  admiration  and  the  impression 
which  she  made  on  me,  for  a  kind  of  indescribable  smile 
wandered  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  In  the  curiosity 
with  which  we  looked  at  each  other  was  hidden  the  un- 
defined bashfulness  of  a  youth  and  a  maiden.  Oh,  those 
simple  heartfelt  relations  of  a  brother  and  sister,  relations 
of  childhood,  had  gone  somewhere  into  a  forest,  to  return 
nevermore. 

Ah,  how  beautiful  she  was  with  that  smile  and  that 
quiet  joy  in  her  eyes  !  Light  from  the  lamp  hanging  over 
the  table  fell  on  her  bright  hair.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
black  robe  with  something  thrown  over  her  which  was 
equally  dark.  This  she  held  on  her  breast  beneath  her 
white  neck  with  her  hand ;  but  in  this  apparel  was  evi- 
dent a  certain  charming  disorder,  which  arose  from  the 
haste  with  which  she  had  dressed.  The  warmth  of  sleep 
issued  from  her.  When  at  greeting  I  touched  her  hand, 
it  was  warm,  soft,  satin-like,  and  her  touch  pierced  me 
with  a  delightful  quiver.  Hania  had  changed  as  well 
mentally  as  physically.  When  I  went  away  she  was  a 
simple  maiden,  half  servant;  now  she  was  a  young  lady, 
with  a  noble  expression  of  face  and  elegant  movements, 
betraying  good  breeding  and  the  habit  of  select  society. 


HANI  A.  65 

She  was  roused  morally  and  mentally  ;  a  soul  was  looking 
out  through  her  eyes.  She  had  ceased  to  be  a  child  in 
every  respect ;  her  undefined  srnile,  and  a  kind  of  inno- 
cent coquetry  with  which  she  considered  me  declared  this, 
and  from  which  it  was  evident  that  she  understood  in 
how  greatly  changed  relations  we  stood  toward  each 
other.  I  saw  soon  that  she  had  a  certain  superiority  over 
me  ;  for  I,  though  more  trained  in  learning,  in  reference  to 
life,  in  reference  to  understanding  every  position,  every 
word,  was  still  rather  a  simple  boy.  Hania  was  freer 
with  me  than  I  with  her.  My  dignity  of  a  guardian  and 
lord's  son  had  also  gone  somewhere  into  a  forest.  On 
the  road  home  I  had  been  arranging  with  myself  how  to 
greet  Hania,  what  to  say  to  her,  how  to  be  kind  and  in- 
dulgent, but  all  these  plans  tumbled  down  utterly.  The 
position  somehow  began  to  be  defined  that  not  I  was  good 
and  kind  to  her,  but  rather  that  she  seemed  to  be  good 
and  kind  to  me.  I  could  not  understand  this  clearly  at 
first,  but  I  felt  the  position  more  than  I  understood  it. 
I  had  arranged  with  myself  to  ask  her  what  she  was 
studying,  what  she  had  learned,  how  she  had  passed  the 
time,  whether  Pani  d'Yves  and  Father  Ludvik  were  satis- 
fied with  her  ;  but  it  was  she  who  always,  with  that  smile 
in  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  asked  me  what  I  had  been 
doing,  what  I  had  learned,  and  what  I  intended  to  do  in 
the  future.  All  had  come  out  wonderfully  different  from 
what  I  had  intended.  Speaking  briefly,  our  relations  had 
changed  in  a  sense  directly  inverse. 

After  an  hour's  conversation  we  all  betook  ourselves 
to  rest.  I  went  to  my  room  a  little  drowsy,  a  little 
astonished,  a  little  deceived  and  downcast,  but  through 
various  impressions.  Love  roused  again  began  to  push 
out,  like  a  flame  through  the  cracks  of  a  burning  build- 
ing, and  soon  covered  those  impressions  completely. 


66  HANIA. 

Then  simply  Mania's  form,  that  maiden  figure,  rich,  full 
of  charms,  such  as  I  had  seen  her,  alluring,  surrounded 
with  the  warmth  of  sleep,  with  her  white  hand  holding 
the  disordered  dress  on  her  bosom,  with  her  hanging 
tresses,  roused  my  young  imagination,  and  veiled  with 
itself  everything  before  me. 

I  fell  asleep  with  her  image  under  my  eyelids. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

IEOSE  very  early  next  day  and  ran  out  to  the  garden. 
The  morning  was  beautiful,  full  of  dew  and  the  odor 
of  flowers.  I  went  quickly  to  the  hornbeam  picket,  for 
my  heart  told  me  that  I  should  find  Hania  there.  But 
evidently  my  heart,  too  receptive  of  forebodings,  had 
deceived  itself.  Hania  was  not  there,  no  trace  of  her. 
Only  after  breakfast  did  I  find  myself  alone  with  her.  I 
asked  if  she  would  walk  in  the  garden.  She  consented 
willingly  and  ran  to  her  chamber;  she  returned  soon 
with  a  large  straw  hat  on  her  head,  which  shaded  her 
forehead  and  eyes,  and  with  a  parasol  in  her  hand.  She 
smiled  at  me  roguishly  from  under  the  hat,  as  if  to  say, 
"  See  how  this  becomes  me." 

We  went  to  the  garden  together.  I  turned  toward  the 
hornbeam  picket,  and  on  the  road  thought,  how  shall  I 
begin  conversation,  and  thought  also  that  Hania,  who  cer- 
tainly could  begin  better  than  I,  had  no  wish  to  assist  me, 
but  rather  amused  herself  with  my  perplexity.  I  walked 
along  at  her  side  in  silence,  cutting  off  with  my  whip 
flowers  growing  on  the  side  of  the  path,  till  Hania 
laughed  all  on  a  sudden. 

"  Pan  Henryk,"  said  she,  catching  at  the  whip,  "  what 
have  the  flowers  done  to  you  ? " 


HANIA.  67 

"  Hania,  what  are  the  flowers  to  me  ?  But  thou  seest 
that  I  do  not  know  how  to  begin  talk  with  thee ;  thou  hast 
changed  much,  Hania.  Ah,  how  thou  hast  changed  ! " 

"  Let  us  suppose  that  to  be  true.  Does  it  make  you 
angry  ? " 

"  I  do  not  say  that  it  does,"  answered  I,  half  in  sorrow ; 
"  but  I  cannot  make  myself  used  to  it,  for  it  seems  to  me 
that  that  other  little  Hania  whom  I  knew  before,  and 
thou,  are  two  different  beings.  That  one  had  grown  into 
my  memory,  into  —  my  heart,  like  a  sister,  Hania,  and 
therefore  —  " 

"And  therefore "  (here  she  pointed  to  herself)  "this 
one  is  a  stranger,  is  she  not?"  asked  she,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Hania  !  Hania  !  how  canst  thou  even  imagine  such  a 
thing  ? " 

"  Still  it  is  very  natural,  though  perhaps  sad,"  answered 
she.  "  You  are  looking  in  your  heart  for  the  old  brotherly 
feelings,  and  do  not  find  them,  that  is  all." 

"  No,  I  do  not  look  in  my  heart  for  the  old  Hania,  for 
she  is  there  always ;  but  I  look  for  her  in  thee,  and  as  to 
my  heart  —  " 

"  As  to  your  heart,"  interrupted  she,  joyously,  "  I  can 
guess  what  has  become  of  it.  It  has  stayed  somewhere  in 
Warsaw  with  some  other  little  heart.  That  is  guessed 
easily ! " 

I  looked  deeply  into  her  eyes.  I  did  not  know 
whether  she  was  quizzing  me  a  little  or  counting  on 
the  impression  made  on  me  yesterday,  and  which  I  was 
unable  to  hide,  but  she  was  playing  with  me  some- 
what cruelly.  All  at  once  a  wish  to  resist  was  roused 
in  me.  I  thought  that  I  must  have  a  supremely  comi- 
cal face,  looking  at  her  with  the  expression  of  a 
mortally  wounded  deer;  so  I  mastered  my  feelings 
and  said, — 


68  HANIA. 

"  If  that  is  true  ? " 

A  visible  expression  of  astonishment,  and,  as  it  were, 
of  dissatisfaction,  came  to  her  face. 

"  If  that  is  true,"  answered  she,  "  it  is  you  who  have 
changed,  not  I." 

She  frowned  a  little,  and,  looking  at  me  from  under 
her  forehead,  went  on  some  time  in  silence.  I  en- 
deavored to  hide  the  glad  emotion  with  which  her  words 
penetrated  me.  "  She  says,"  thought  I,  "  that  if  I  love 
another,  it  is  I  who  have  changed ;  therefore  it  is  not  she 
who  has  changed,  she  —  "  And  from  delight  I  dared  not 
finish  this  wise  inference. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  it  was  not  I,  not  I,  but  she 
who  had  changed.  That  little  maiden  who  six  months 
before  knew  nothing  of  God's  world,  to  whose  mind  it 
had  never  occurred  to  mention  feelings,  and  for  whom 
such  a  conversation  would  have  been  as  Chinese,  carried 
it  on  to-day  as  freely  and  accurately  as  if  she  had  been 
reciting  a  lesson.  How  had  that  child  mind  developed 
and  become  so  flexible  ?  But  wonderful  things  take 
place  in  girls.  More  than  one  falls  asleep  in  the 
evening  a  child  and  wakes  up  in  the  morning  a 
woman,  with  another  world  of  feelings  and  thoughts. 
For  Hania,  with  a  nature  quick,  capable,  sensitive,  the 
passage  of  her  sixteenth  year,  another  sphere  of  society, 
learning,  books,  read,  perhaps,  in  secret,  —  all  this  was 
more  than  sufficient. 

Meanwhile  we  walked  on  side  by  side  in  silence  which 
Hania  was  the  first  to  break. 

"  Then  you  are  in  love,  Pan  Henryk  ? " 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  I,  with  a  smile. 

"  Then  you  will  be  sighing  for  Warsaw  ? " 

"  No,  Hania ;  I  should  be  glad  were  I  never  to  leave 
here." 


HANIA.  69 

Hania  glanced  at  me  quickly.  Evidently  she  wished 
to  say  something,  but  was  silent.  After  a  while,  however, 
she  struck  her  skirts  lightly  with  the  parasol,  and  said, 
as  if  answering  her  own  thoughts,  — 

"  Ah,  what  a  child  I  am  ! " 

"  Why  dost  thou  say  that,  Hania  ?" 

"  Oh,  so  —  Let  us  sit  on  this  bench  and  talk  of  some- 
thing else.  Is  not  the  view  from  here  beautiful  ? "  asked 
she,  with  that  well-known  smile  on  her  lips. 

She  seated  herself  on  the  bench  not  far  from  the  paling 
under  an  immense  linden-tree.  From  that  point  the  view 
was  very  beautiful  indeed  in  the  direction  of  the  pond,  the 
darn,  and  the  forest  beyond  the  pond.  Hania  pointed  it  out 
to  me  with  her  parasol ;  but  I,  though  a  lover  of  beautiful 
views,  had  not  the  least  desire  to  look  at  it,  —  first,  because 
I  knew  it  perfectly ;  second,  I  had  before  me  Hania,  a 
hundred  times  more  beautiful  than  anything  which  sur- 
rounded her;  finally,  I  was  thinking  of  something  else. 

"  How  clearly  those  trees  are  reflected  in  the  water  !  " 
said  she. 

"  I  see  that  thou  art  an  artist,"  I  answered,  not  looking 
at  the  trees  or  the  water. 

"  Father  Ludvik  is  teaching  me  to  sketch.  Oh,  I  have 
learned  much  while  you  were  gone.  I  wanted  —  but 
what  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you  angry  with  me  ? r' 

"  No,  Hania,  I  am  not  angry,  for  I  could  not  be  angry 
with  thee ;  but  I  see  that  thou  avoidest  my  questions, 
and  this  is  the  trouble,  we  are  both  playing  at  hide  and 
seek,  instead  of  speaking  sincerely  and  with  confidence, 
as  in  old  times.  Maybe  thou  dost  not  feel  this,  but  for 
me  it  is  disagreeable." 

These  simple  words  had  this  effect  only,  that  they 
brought  us  into  great  perplexity.  Hania  gave  me  both 
hands,  it  is  true ;  I  pressed  those  hands  perhaps  too  vig- 


70  HANIA. 

orously,  and,  oh,  terror !  I  bent  over  them  quickly  and 
kissed  them  not  at  all  as  befitted  a  guardian.  Then  we 
were  confused  to  the  utmost.  She  blushed  to  the  neck, 
I  also ;  and  finally  we  were  silent,  not  knowing  in  any 
way  how  to  begin  tha,t  conversation  which  should  be 
sincere  and  full  of  confidence. 

Then  she  looked  at  me,  I  at  her,  and  again  we  hung 
out  red  flags  on  our  faces.  We  sat  side  by  side  like  two 
dolls ;  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  listening  to  the  hurried 
beating  of  my  own  heart.  Our  position  was  unendurable. 
At  times  I  felt  that  some  hand  was  seizing  me  by  the 
collar  to  throw  me  at  her  feet,  and  another  was  holding 
me  by  the  hair  and  would  not  let  me  do  so.  All  at  once 
Hania  sprang  up  and  said  in  a  hurried,  confused  voice,  — 

"  I  must  go.  I  have  a  lesson  at  this  hour  with  Pani 
d'Yves.  It  is  nearly  eleven." 

We  returned  by  the  same  road  to  the  house,  and 
went  on  as  before  in  silence.  I,  as  before,  kept  cutting 
the  heads  off  the  flowers  with  my  whip,  but  this  time 
she  had  no  compassion  for  the  flowers. 

"  Our  former  relations  have  returned  beautifully  ;  there 
is  nothing  to  be  said  on  that  point.  Jesus,  Mary  !  what 
is  taking  place  within  me  ? "  thought  I,  when  Hania  left 
me  to  myself.  I  was  in  love  so  that  the  hair  was  rising 
on  my  head. 

Just  then  the  priest  came  and  took  me  to  look  at  the 
management.  On  the  way  he  told  me  many  things 
touching  our  estate  ;  these  did  not  occupy  me  in  the  least, 
though  I  pretended  to  listen  attentively. 

My  brother  Kazio,  who,  enjoying  his  vacation,  spent 
the  whole  day  out  of  doors,  in  the  stables,  in  the  forest,  at 
shooting,  on  horseback,  or  in  a  boat,  was  at  that  particular 
moment  in  the  farm-yard  riding  a  young  horse  from  the 
stud.  When  he  saw  me  and  the  priest,  he  galloped  up 


HANI  A.  71 

to  us  on  the  chestnut,  which  reared  as  if  mad,  and  asked 
us  to  admire  the  horse's  form,  fire,  and  pace  ;  then  he  dis- 
mounted and  went  with  us.  Together  we  visited  the 
stables,  the  cow-houses,  the  barns,  and  were  just  going 
to  the  fields,  when  it  was  announced  that  my  father  had 
come,  so  we  had  to  go  home. 

My  father  greeted  me  more  warmly  than  ever.  When 
he  learned  of  the  examinations,  he  took  me  in  his  arms 
and  declared  that  thenceforward  he  would  consider  me 
full  grown.  Indeed,  a  great  change  had  taken  place  in 
him  with  reference  to  me.  He  treated  me  with  more  con- 
fidence and  affection.  He  began  to  talk  with  me  at  once 
about  property  interests ;  he  confided  to  me  his  intention 
of  buying  one  of  the  neighboring  estates,  and  asked  my 
opinion.  I  divined  that  he  spoke  of  that  purposely  to 
show  me  how  seriously  he  looked  on  my  significance  as  a 
mature  person  and  the  first  son  in  the  family.  At  the 
same  time  I  noticed  how  genuinely  he  was  pleased  with 
me  and  my  advance  in  study.  His  pride  of  a  parent 
was  flattered  immensely  by  the  testimonial  which  I  had 
brought  from  the  professors.  I  noticed,  meanwhile,  that 
he  was  testing  my  character,  my  style  of  thought,  my 
ideas  touching  honor,  and  that  he  put  various  questions 
purposely  to  test  me  with  them.  It  was  evident  that  the 
parental  inspection  proved  favorable,  for  though  my  philo- 
sophic and  social  principles  were  utterly  different  from 
his,  I  did  not  bring  them  forward;  in  other  ideas  we 
could  not  differ.  So  my  father's  severe,  lion-like  face  be- 
came more  radiant  than  ever  I  had  seen  it.  He  covered 
me  with  gifts  that  day ;  he  gave  me  a  brace  of  pistols, 
with  which  he  had  fought  a  duel  not  long  before  with 
Pan  Zoll,  and  on  which  were  marked  a  number  of  other 
duels  which  he  had  fought  during  youth,  while  serving 
in  the  army.  Then  I  received  a  splendid  horse  of  Eastern 


72  HANIA. 

blood,  and  an  ancient  sabre  handed  down  from  my  ances- 
tors ;  the  hilt  was  set  with  stones  ;  on  the  broad  Damascus 
blade  was  an  image  of  the  Mother  of  God,  inlaid  with 
gold  in  the  steel,  and  the  inscription,  "  Jesus,  Mary ! " 
That  sabre  had  become  one  of  our  most  precious  family 
relics,  and  for  years  had  been  the  object  of  sighs  from  me 
and  Kazio,  for  it  cut  iron  as  if  shavings.  My  father, 
when  presenting  the  sabre,  unsheathed  and  whirled  it  a 
couple  of  times  so  that  the  air  whistled  and  there  was 
a  flash  in  the  room ;  then  he  made  a  cross  with  it  over 
my  head,  kissed  the  image  of  the  Mother  of  God  on  the 
blade,  and  said,  while  delivering  the  weapon  into  my 
hands,  — 

"  Into  worthy  hands  !  I  brought  no  shame  to  it ;  bring 
thou  none!"  Then  we  threw  ourselves  into  each  other's 
arms.  Meanwhile  Kazio  seized  the  sabre  with  delight ; 
and  though  only  a  lad  of  fifteen,  but  uncommonly  strong, 
he  began  to  give  blows  with  an  accuracy  and  with  a 
quickness  that  would  not  have  shamed  any  trained 
master  of  fencing.  My  father  looked  at  him  with  satis- 
faction, and  said, — 

"  He  will  be  perfect ;  but  thou  wilt  do  what  is  needed, 
wilt  thou  not  ? " 

"  I  will,  father.  I  should  be  able  to  manage  Kazio 
even.  Of  all  the  comrades  whom  I  have  tried  in  fencing, 
only  one  has  surpassed  me." 

"  Who  is  he  ? " 

"  Selim." 

My  father  made  a  wry  face. 

"  Selim  !     But  thou  must  be  stronger  ? " 

"  That  is  indifferent.  What  would  make  me  try  him  ? 
Selim  and  I  will  never  fight." 

"Ai!  various  things  happen,"  answered  my  father. 

After  dinner  that  day  we  were  all  sitting  on  the  broad; 


HANIA.  73 

vine-covered  porch ;  from  this  porch  the  view  was  on  the 
immense  front  yard  and  in  the  distance  on  the  shady  road 
bordered  by  linden-trees.  Pani  d'Yves  was  working  an 
altar-cloth  for  the  chapel ;  my  father  and  the  priest  were 
smoking  pipes  and  drinking  black  coffee.  Kazio  was 
circling  about  in  front  of  the  porch,  following  the  turns  of 
swift  swallows,  at  which  he  wanted  to  shoot  balls ;  but 
my  father  would  not  let  him  do  that.  Hania  and  I  were 
looking  at  drawings  which  I  had  brought  home,  and 
were  thinking  least  of  all  of  the  drawings ;  for  me  they 
served  only  to  conceal  from  others  the  glances  which  I 
cast  at  Hania. 

"  Well,  and  how  hast  thou  found  Hania  ?  Does  she 
seem  ugly  to  thee,  lord  guardian  ? "  asked  my  father, 
looking  facetiously  at  the  girl. 

I  began  to  examine  a  drawing  very  carefully,  and 
answered  from  behind  the  paper, — 

"  I  will  not  say,  father,  that  she  has  grown  ugly,  but 
she  has  grown  tall,  and  has  changed." 

"Pan  Henryk  has  reproached  me  already  with  these 
changes,"  put  in  Hania,  with  freedom. 

I  wondered  at  her  daring  in  presence  of  my  father.  I 
could  not  have  mentioned  those  reproaches  so  freely. 

"  Oh,  what  matters  it  whether  she  has  grown  old  or 
grown  pretty ! "  said  Father  Ludvik  ;  "  but  she  learns 
quickly  and  well.  Let  Madame  tell  how  quickly  she  has 
learned  French." 

It  should  be  known  that  the  priest,  though  highly 
educated,  did  not  know  French  and  could  not  learn  it, 
though  he  had  spent  a  number  of  years  under  our  roof 
with  Pani  d'Yves.  The  poor  man,  however,  had  a  weak- 
ness for  French,  and  considered  a  knowledge  of  it  as  an 
indispensable  mark  of  superior  education. 

"  I  cannot  deny  that  she  learns  easily  and  willingly," 


74  HANIA. 

answered  Pani  d'Yves,  turning  to  me ;  "  but  still  I  must 
complain  of  her." 

"  Oh,  Pani !  what  new  fault  have  I  committed  ? "  cried 
Hania,  crossing  her  hands. 

"  What  fault  ?  You  will  explain  here  right  away," 
answered  Pani  d'Yves.  "  Just  imagine,  this  young  lady, 
when  she  finds  a  moment  of  time,  takes  up  a  novel  im- 
mediately ;  and  I  have  strong  reasons  for  thinking  that 
when  she  goes  to  bed,  instead  of  quenching  the  candle 
and  sleeping,  she  reads  for  whole  hours." 

"  She  does  a  very  bad  thing ;  but  I  know  from  some 
source  that  she  follows  the  example  of  her  teacher,"  said 
my  father,  who  was  fond  of  teasing  Pani  d'Yves  when  he 
was  in  good  humor. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  greatly ;  I  am  forty-five  years  of 
age,"  answered  the  French  woman. 

"  Why,  just  think,  I  never  should  have  said  that," 
answered  my  father. 

"  You  are  malicious." 

"  I  do  not  know  that ;  but  I  know  this,  that  if  Hania 
gets  novels  from  any  place,  it  is  not  from  the  library,  for 
Father  Ludvik  has  the  key  to  it.  The  blame  therefore 
falls  on  the  teacher." 

In  truth,  Pani  d'Yves  had  read  novels  all  her  life, 
and,  having  a  passion  to  relate  them  to  every  one,  she 
must  surely  have  related  some  to  Hania;  hence,  in 
the  words  of  my  father,  which  were  half  in  jest,  a  cer- 
tain truth  lay  concealed,  which  he  wished  to  emphasize 
purposely. 

"  Oh,  see !  Some  one  is  coming  ! "  cried  Kazio,  suddenly. 

We  all  looked  into  the  shady  alley  between  the  linden- 
trees,  and  at  the  other  end  of  it,  perhaps  a  verst  away,  we 
saw  a  cloud  of  dust,  which  approached  us  with  uncom- 
mon rapidity. 


HANIA.  75 

"  Who  can  that  be  ?  What  speed  ! "  said  my  father, 
rising  up.  "  Such  a  dust  one  can  distinguish  nothing." 

In  fact,  the  heat  was  great;  no  rain  had  fallen  for 
more  than  two  weeks,  so  that  along  the  roads  clouds  of 
white  dust  rose  at  every  step.  We  looked  for  a  while, 
yet  in  vain,  at  the  approaching  cloud,  which  was  not 
farther  than  a  few  tens  of  steps  from  the  front  yard, 
when  out  of  the  cloud  emerged  a  horse's  head  with  dis- 
tended, red  nostrils,  fiery  eyes,  and  flowing  mane.  The 
white  horse  was  going  at  the  swiftest  gallop ;  his  feet 
barely  touched  the  earth ;  and  on  his  back,  bent  to  the 
horse's  neck,  in  Tartar  fashion,  was  no  other  than  my 
friend  Selim. 

"Selim  is  coming,  Selim  !"  cried  Kazio. 

"What  is  that  lunatic  doing?  The  gate  is  closed!" 
cried  I,  springing  from  my  place. 

There  was  no  time  to  open  the  gate,  for  no  one  could 
reach  it  in  season;  meanwhile,  Selim  urged  on  like  a 
madman,  at  random,  and  it  was  almost  certain  that  he 
would  fall  on  the  gate,  more  than  two  ells  high,  with 
sharp  peaks  at  the  top. 

"  O  God,  have  mercy  on  him  !  "  cried  the  priest. 

"The  gate!  Selim,  the  gate!"  screamed  I,  as  if  pos- 
sessed, waving  my  handkerchief  and  running  with  all 
my  might  across  the  yard. 

Something  like  five  yards  from  the  gate,  Selim  straight- 
ened himself  in  the  saddle,  and  measured  the  gate  with 
a  glance  quick  as  lightning.  Next,  the  scream  of  women 
sitting  on  the  porch  came  to  me,  the  swift  trampling  of 
hoofs ;  the  horse  rose,  suspended  his  forelegs  in  the  air, 
and  went  over  the  gate  at  the  highest  speed  without 
stopping  one  instant. 

When  before  the  porch,  Selim  reined  in  his  steed  so 
that  the  beast's  hoofs  dug  into  the  earth,  then  snatching 


76  HANIA. 

the  hat  from  his  own  head,  he  waved  it  like  a  standard 
and  cried,  — 

"How  are  ye,  dear  beloved  lords?  How  are  ye ?  My 
respects  to  the  lord  benefactor ! "  cried  he,  bowing  to  my 
father ;  "  my  respects  to  the  beloved  priest,  Pani  d'Yves, 
Panna  Hania !  We  are  all  together  again.  Vivat ! 
Vivat ! " 

Then  he  sprang  from  the  horse,  and  throwing  the  reins 
to  Franek,  who  had  run  out  of  the  hall  the  moment 
before,  he  embraced  my  father,  then  the  priest,  and  fell 
to  kissing  the  hands  of  the  ladies. 

Pani  d'Yves  and  Hania  were  pale  from  terror,  and  just 
because  of  that  they  greeted  Selim  as  if  he  had  been 
rescued  from  death. 

"  Oh,  thou  art  playing  the  madman,  the  madman ! 
What  terror  thou  didst  bring  on  us  !"  said  Father  Ludvik. 
"  We  thought  that  it  was  all  over  with  thee." 

"  But  why  so  ? " 

"  That  gate.     How  is  it  possible  to  race  so  at  random  ? " 

"  At  random  ?  I  saw  very  well  that  the  gate  was 
closed.  Oho !  I  have  my  perfect  Tartar  eyes." 

"  And  thou  dost  not  fear  to  race  so  ? " 

Selim  laughed.  "  Not  in  the  least,  Father  Ludvik. 
But  for  that  matter,  the  merit  is  my  horse's,  not  mine." 

"  There  is  a  bold  boy  for  you ! "  said  Pani  d'Yves. 

"Oh,  that  is  true!  Not  every  man  would  dare  that," 
added  Hania. 

"  It  is  thy  wish  to  say,"  added  I,  "  that  not  every  horse 
could  clear  the  gate,  for  more  such  men  could  be  found." 

Hania  gazed  long  at  me. 

"  I  would  not  advise  you  to  try,"  said  she ;  then  she 
turned  toward  Selim  and  her  look  expressed  admiration, 
for  really  this  daring  deed  of  the  Tartar  was  one  of  those 
risks  which  always  please  women.  One  should  have 


HANIA.  77 

seen  him  at  that  moment,  his  fine,  dark  hair  falling  on 
his  forehead,  his  cheeks  flushed  from  the  swift  move- 
ment, his  gleaming  eyes,  from  which  shone  delight  and 
gladness.  As  he  stood  there  near  Hania,  looking  her  in 
the  eyes  with  curiosity,  no  artist  could  have  imagined  a 
more  beautiful  couple. 

But  I  was  touched  in  the  highest  degree  by  her  words. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  that,  "  I  would  not  advise  thee  to 
try,"  had  been  spoken  in  a  voice  in  which  a  tone  of  irony 
was  trembling.  I  looked  with  an  inquiring  glance  at  my 
father,  who  had  examined  Seliin's  horse  a  moment  before. 
I  knew  his  parental  ambition  ;  I  knew  that  he  was  jealous 
the  moment  that  any  one  surpassed  me  in  anything,  and 
this  had  angered  him  toward  Selim  for  a  long  time.  I 
concluded,  therefore,  that  he  would  not  oppose  in  case 
I  wished  to  show  that  I  was  not  a  worse  horseman  than 
Selim. 

"  That  horse  gallops  well,  father,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  and  that  Satan  sits  well,"  muttered  he.  "  Couldst 
thou  do  the  same  ? " 

"  Hania  doubts,"  answered  I,  with  a  certain  bitterness. 
"May  I  try?" 

My  father  hesitated,  looked  at  the  gate,  at  the  horse, 
at  me,  and  said,  — 

"  Give  peace." 

"  Naturally ! "  exclaimed  I,  in  sorrow ;  "  it  is  better  for 
me  to  be  counted  an  old  woman  in  comparison  with 
Selim." 

"  Henryk  !  what  art  thou  saying  ? "  cried  Selim,  encir- 
cling my  neck  with  his  arms. 

"  Gallop !  gallop,  boy !  and  do  your  best,"  said  my 
father,  whose  pride  was  touched. 

"  Bring  the  horse  here  ! "  called  I  to  Franek,  who  was 
leading  the  tired  steed  slowly  around  the  yard. , 


78  HANIA. 

"  Pan  Henryk ! "  cried  Hania,  springing  up  from  her 
seat,  "  then  I  am  the  cause  of  this  trial.  I  do  not  wish 
it;  I  do  not  wish  it.  Do  not  do  it;  do  not,  for  my 
sake ! " 

And  while  speaking,  she  looked  me  in  the  eyes,  as  if 
she  wished  to  finish  with  her  eyes  that  which  she  could 
not  express  in  words. 

Ah !  for  that  look  I  would  have  given  the  last  drop  of 
my  blood  at  that  moment ;  but  I  could  not  and  would 
not  draw  back.  My  offended  pride  was  stronger  just  then 
than  aught  else ;  so  I  mastered  myself  and  answered 
dryly,— 

"  Thou  art  mistaken,  Hania,  in  thinking  that  thou  art 
the  cause.  I  shall  clear  the  gate  to  amuse  myself." 

Thus  speaking,  in  spite  of  the  protests  of  all  save 
my  father,  I  mounted  and  moved  forward  at  a  walk 
into  the  alley  of  lindens.  Franek  opened  the  gate  and 
closed  it  after  me.  I  had  bitterness  in  my  soul,  and 
would  have  gone  over  the  gate  had  it  been  twice  as  high. 
When  I  had  ridden  about  three  hundred  yards,  I  turned 
the  horse  and  began  at  a  trot,  which  I  changed  to  a 
gallop  immediately. 

All  at  once  I  noticed  that  the  saddle  was  moving.  One 
of  two  things  had  happened,  —  either  the  girth  had 
stretched  during  the  former  leap,  or  Franek  had  loosened 
it  to  let  the  horse  breathe,  and  through  stupidity,  or 
perhaps  forgetfulness,  had  not  informed  me. 

Now  it  was  too  late.  The  horse  was  approaching  the 
gate  at  the  highest  speed,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  stop  him. 
"  If  I  kill  myself,  I  shall  kill  myself,"  thought  I.  I 
pressed  the  sides  of  the  horse  convulsively.  The  air 
whistled  in  my  ears.  Suddenly  the  points  of  the  gate 
gleamed  before  my  eyes.  I  waved  my  whip,  felt  myself 
borne  through  air,  a  scream  from  the  porch  struck  my 


HANIA.  79 

ears,  it  grew  dark  in  my  eyes  —  and  after  a  while  I 
recovered  from  a  faint. 

I  sprang  to  my  feet. 

"What  has  happened  ?"  cried  I.  "Was  I  thrown  ?  I 
fainted." 

Near  me  were  my  father,  the  priest,  Pani  d'Yves,  Selim, 
Kazio,  and  Hania  white  as  linen,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  is  the  matter  ? "  was  the 
cry  on  all  sides. 

"  Nothing  at  all.  I  was  thrown,  but  that  was  not  my 
fault.  The  girth  was  stretched." 

In  fact,  after  the  momentary  faint  I  felt  perfectly  well, 
only  breath  lacked  me  a  little.  My  father  fell  to  touch- 
ing my  hands,  feet,  shoulders. 

"  It  does  not  hurt  ? "  inquired  he. 

"  No ;  I  am  perfectly  well." 

My  breath  too  returned  to  me.  But  I  was  angry,  for 
I  thought  that  I  seemed  ridiculous,  —  that  I  must  seem 
ridiculous.  In  falling  from  the  horse,  I  was  thrown  with 
violence  across  the  whole  width  of  the  road,  which  passed 
near  a  grass-plot,  and  fell  on  the  grass ;  because  of  this 
the  elbows  and  knees  of  my  clean  clothing  were  stained 
green,  my  dress  and  hair  disordered.  But  still  the  un- 
fortunate outcome  had  rendered  me  a  service.  A  moment 
before,  Selim  was  the  object  of  general  attention  in  our 
circle,  as  a  guest,  and  as  a  guest  just  arrived  ;  now  I  had 
taken  from  him  that  palm  of  victory  at  the  cost  of  my 
knees  and  elbows.  Hania,  thinking  herself  all  the  time, 
and  justly,  the  cause  of  this  hazardous  trial  which  for 
me  might  have  ended  badly,  tried  to  make  up  for  her 
hastiness  with  kindness  and  sweetness.  Under  such 
influence  I  soon  recovered  my  joyousness,  which  was 
communicated  to  all  the  society  which  a  moment  before 
had  been  terrified.  We  amused  ourselves  perfectly. 


80  HANIA. 

Lunch  was  served,  at  which  Hania  was  the  mistress,  and 
then  we  went  to  the  garden.  In  the  garden  Selim  became 
as  full  of  pranks  as  a  little  boy ;  he  laughed,  frolicked,  and 
Hania  helped  him  with  all  her  soul.  Finally  he  said,  — 

"  Oh,  how  we  shall  amuse  ourselves  this  time,  all 
three  of  us  1 " 

"  I  am  curious  to  know,"  said  Hania,  "  who  is  the  most 
joyous ! " 

"  Oh,  surely  I,"  answered  Selim. 

"  But  perhaps  it  is  I.     I  am  gladsome  by  nature." 

"But  the  least  gladsome  is  Henryk,"  added  Selim. 
"  He  is  naturally  dignified,  and  a  little  sad.  If  he  had 
lived  in  the  Middle  Ages,  he  would  have  been  a  knight- 
errant  and  a  troubadour,  only  he  cannot  sing.  But  we," 
continued  he,  turning  to  Hania,  "  have  looked  for  the 
poppy  and  found  it." 

"  I  cannot  agree  to  that,"  answered  I.  "  For  any  given 
disposition  I  prefer  the  opposite,  since  in  this  case  one 
has  the  qualities  which  are  lacking  the  other." 

"  Thanks,"  replied  Selim ;  "  I  admit  that  thou  art  by 
nature  fond  of  weeping,  and  Panna  Hania  of  laughing. 
Well,  let  it  be  that :  get  married,  you  two  —  " 

"  Selim ! " 

Selim  looked  at  me  and  began  to  laugh. 

"  Well,  young  man  ?  Ha  !  ha  !  Dost  remember  the 
oration  of  Cicero,  '  commoveri  videtur  juvenis,'  which  in 
Polish  means  :  the  young  man  seems  confused.  But  that 
signifies  nothing,  for  without  cause  even  thou  canst  blush 
gloriously.  Panna  Hauia,  he  cooks  crawfish  1  gloriously, 
and  now  he  has  blushed  for  himself  and  you." 

"Selim!" 

"  Nothing,  nothing !  I  return  to  my  subject.  Thou, 
sir,  art  a  man  of  weeping,  and  thou,  young  lady,  art  a 

1  To  cook  crawfish,  to  blush. 


MANIA.  81 

lady  of  laughing  ;  get  married.  What  will  happen  ?  He 
will  begin  to  blubber,  and  you  to  laugh ;  you  will  never 
understand  each  other,  never  agree,  different  always  ;  and 
what  do  I  care  for  chosen  natures  ?  Oh,  with  me  it 
would  be  different :  we  should  simply  laugh  all  our 
lives,  and  that  would  be  the  whole  story." 

"  What  are  you  saying  ? "  answered  Hania,  and  then  both 
laughed  heartily. 

As  to  me,  I  had  not  the  least  desire  to  laugh.  Selim 
did  not  know  what  injustice  he  did  me  in  persuading 
Hania  of  the  difference  between  her  disposition  and  mine. 
I  was  angry  in  the  highest  degree,  and  answered  Selim 
with  sarcasm,  — 

"Thou  hast  a  strange  view,  and  it  astonishes  me  all 
the  more,  since  I  have  noticed  that  thou  hast  a  weakness 
for  melancholy  persons." 

"  I  ?  "  said  he,  with  unfeigned  astonishment. 

"  Yes.  I  will  merely  remind  thee  of  a  certain  maiden, 
some  fuchsias,  and  a  little  face  between  them.  I  give 
thee  my  word  that  I  do  not  know  such  a  melancholy 
face." 

Hania  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Oho !  I  am  learning  something  new ! "  cried  she, 
laughing.  "  Is  she  pretty,  Pan  Selim  ;  is  she  pretty  ? " 

I  thought  that  Selim  would  grow  confused  and  lose 
his  boldness  ;  but  he  merely  said,  — 

"  Henryk  ? " 

"  What  ? " 

"  Dost  thou  know  what  I  do  with  those  whose  tongues 
are  too  long  ?  "  And  he  laughed. 

Hania  insisted  on  his  telling  her  even  the  name  of  this 
chosen  one  ;  without  thinking  long,  he  said,  — 

"  Yozia." 

But  if  he  had  been  what  he  pretended  he  would  have 


82  HANIA. 

paid  dearly  for  his  sincerity,  for  Hania  gave  him  no  peace 
from  that  hour  till  evening. 

"  Is  she  pretty  ? " 

"  Oh,  so." 

"  What  kind  of  hair  has  she,  and  eyes  ? " 

"  Nice  ones,  but  not  such  as  please  me  more  than  all 
others." 

"  And  what  kind  please  you  ? " 

"  Bright  hair,  and  eyes,  if  they  are  kind,  blue,  like 
those  into  which  I  am  looking  at  this  moment." 

"  Oo,  Pan  Selim  !  " 

And  Hania  frowned;  but  Selim,  putting  his  palms 
together,  made  himself  pleasant  with  that  incomparable 
sweetness  in  his  eyes,  and  began,— 

"Panna  Hania,  be  not  angry.  What  has  the  poor 
little  Tartar  done  ?  Be  not  angry !  Let  the  lady 
laugh." 

Hania  looked  at  him,  and  as  she  looked  the  cloud  van- 
ished from  her  forehead.  He  simply  enchanted  her.  A 
smile  wandered  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth  ;  her  eyes 
grew  bright,  her  face  radiant ;  and  at  last  she  answered  in 
a  soft,  mild  voice,  — 

"  Very  well,  I  will  not  be  angry ;  but  I  beg  you  to  be 
nice." 

"  I  will,  as  I  love  Mohammed,  I  will." 

"  And  do  you  love  your  Mohammed  much  ? " 

"  As  dogs  a  beggar." 

And  then  both  laughed  again. 

"  But  now  tell  me  whom  does  Pan  Henryk  love  ?  I 
asked  him,  but  he  would  not  tell  me." 

"  Henryk  ?  Do  you  know "  (here  he  looked  at  me 
askance)  "  he  is  not  in  love  with  any  one  yet,  perhaps,  but 
he  will  love.  Oh,  I  know  perfectly  whom !  and  as  to 
me—" 


HANIA.  83 

"  As  to  you,  what  ? "  inquired  Hania,  trying  to  conceal 
her  confusion. 

"  I  would  do  the  very  same  —  but  wait  a  bit ;  he  may 
be  in  love  already." 

"  I  beg  thee  to  stop,  Selim." 

"  Thou,  my  honest  boy,"  said  Selim,  putting  his  arm 
around  iny  neck  —  "  Ah,  if  you  knew  how  honest  he  is." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that,"  said  Hania ;  "  I  remember  what  he 
was  to  me  after  my  grandfather's  death." 

A  cloud  of  sadness  flew  between  us  then. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Selim,  wishing  to  change  the 
subject,  "  that  after  examination  we  had  a  little  feast  with 
our  master  —  " 

"  And  drank  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Oh,  that  is  the  custom  which  one  cannot  avoid. 
So  while  we  were  drinking,  I,  being,  as  you  know,  a  giddy 
fellow,  raised  a  toast  to  you.  I  acted  unwisely,  but 
Henryk  sprang  up :  '  How  dare  you  mention  Hania  in 
such  a  place  as  this  ? '  said  he  to  me ;  for  that  was  a 
wine-cellar.  We  came  near  fighting.  But  he  will  not  let 
any  one  offend  you,  no,  no  — 

Hania  gave  me  her  hand.  "  How  good  you  are,  Pan 
Henryk!". 

"  Well,"  answered  I,  carried  away  by  Selim's  words, 
"  say  thyself,  Hania,  is  not  Selim  just  as  honest,  since  he 
tells  this?" 

"  Oh,  what  great  honesty  ! "  said  Selim,  laughing. 

"  But  it  is,"  answered  Hania  ;  "  you  are  worthy  of  each 
other,  and  we  shall  have  such  a  pleasant  time  in 
company." 

"  You  will  be  our  queen  ! "  cried  Selim,  with  enthusi- 
asm. 

"Gentlemen!  Hania!  we' invite  you  to  tea,"  called 
Pani  d'Yves  from  the  garden  veranda. 


84  HANIA. 

We  went  to  tea,  all  three  of  us  in  the  very  best  feeling. 
The  table  was  set  under  the  veranda  ;  the  lights,  shielded 
by  glass  tubes,  burned  brightly,  and  moths  in  a  swarm 
circled  around  them  ;  they  butted  against  the  glass  walls 
of  the  tubes  ;  the  leaves  of  wild  grapevines  rustled,  moved 
by  the  warm  night  air ;  and  beyond  the  poplars  rose  a 
great  golden  moon.  The  last  conversation  between  Hania, 
Selim,  and  myself  had  brought  us  to  a  wonderfully  mild, 
friendly  tone.  That  calm  and  quiet  evening  acted  also 
on  the  older  persons.  My  father's  face  and  the  priest's 
were  as  serene  as  the  sky. 

After  tea  Pani  d'Yves  began  to  play  solitaire;  my 
father  fell  into  perfect  humor,  for  he  commenced  to  tell 
of  old  times,  which  with  him  was  always  a  sign  of  good 
feeling. 

"  I  remember,"  said  he,  "  we  halted  once  not  far  from  a 
village  in  Krasnostav.  The  night  was  dark ;  even  strain 
your  eyes  out,  you  could  not  see  anything "  (here  he 
drew  smoke  from  his  pipe  and  let  it  go  above  the  light). 
"  People  were  as  tired  as  a  Jew's  nag.  We  were  standing 
silently,  and  then  —  " 

Here  began  a  narrative  of  wonderful  and  most  wonder- 
ful happenings.  The  priest,  who  had  listened  to  this 
more  than  once,  still  stopped  smoking  and  listened  more 
attentively;  he  raised  his  spectacles  to  his  forehead, 
and,  nodding,  repeated  "  Uhum  !  Uhum ! "  or  called  out, 
"  Jesus,  Mary  !  well,  and  what  ? " 

Selim  and  I,  leaning  against  each  other,  with  eyes  fixed 
on  my  father,  caught  his  words  eagerly.  On  no  face  was 
the  expression  depicted  so  definitely  as  on  Selim's.  His 
eyes  were  gleaming  like  coals  ;  a  flush  covered  his  face ;  his 
hot  Eastern  nature  came  to  the  surface  like  oil.  Hardly 
could  he  sit  in  one  place.  Pani  d'Yves  smiled  as  she 
looked  at  him,  and  showed  him  to  Hania  with  her  eyes ; 


HANIA.  85 

then  both  began  to  observe  him,  for  they  were  entertained 
by  that  face,  which  was  like  a  mirror  or  the  surface  of 
water,  in  which  everything  is  reflected  that  comes  near 
its  transparency. 

To-day,  when  I  recall  evenings  like  that,  I  cannot  resist 
my  emotion.  Many  waves  on  the  water,  many  clouds  in 
the  sky,  have  passed  since  that  time ;  but  still  winged 
memory  pushes  before  my  eyes  continually  similar  pic- 
tures of  the  village  mansion,  the  summer  night,  and  that 
family,  harmonious,  loving,  happy,  —  a  gray  veteran  telling 
former  adventures  of  his  life ;  youths  with  fire  in  their 
eyes  ;  farther  on  a  face  like  a  field  flower  —  Ei !  Many 
waves  on  the  water  and  clouds  in  the  sky  have  passed 
since  that  time. 

Meanwhile  the  clock  struck  ten.  Selim  sprang  up,  for 
he  had  received  the  command  to  return  that  same  night. 
The  whole  company  decided  to  go  with  him  as  far  as  the 
cross  at  the  end  of  the  lindens  near  the  second  gate,  I 
on  horseback  farther,  as  far  as  the  meadows.  We  started 
then,  all  of  us  except  Kazio,  who  had  fallen  asleep  in  the 
best  fashion. 

Hania,  Selim,  and  I  pushed  on  ahead,  we  two  leading 
our  horses  by  the  bridles,  Hania  between  us.  The  three 
old  people  walked  behind.  It  was  dark  in  the  alley ;  the 
moon,  merely  breaking  through  the  dense  foliage,  marked 
the  dark  road  with  silver  spots. 

"  Let  us  sing  something,"  said  Selim,  "  some  song,  old 
and  good ;  for  example,  the  song  about  Filon." 

"  No  one  sings  that,"  answered  Hania.  "  I  know 
another  :  '  Oh,  autumn,  autumn,  the  leaf  is  withering  on 
the  tree  ! '  " 

We  agreed  at  last  to  begin  with  "  Filon,"  which  the 
priest  and  my  father  liked  much,  for  it  reminded  them  of 
old  times,  and  then  sing  "  Oh,  autumn,  autumn  ! "  Hania 


86  HANIA. 

placed  her  white  hand  on  the  mane  of  Selim's  horse  and 
began  to  sing,  — 

"  The  moon  has  gone  down,  the  dogs  are  all  sleeping ; 
But  some  one  is  clapping  beyond  the  pine  wood. 
Surely,  Filon,  my  darling,  is  watching, 
Awaiting  me  under  the  favorite  maple." 

When  we  finished,  the  voices  of  the  old  people  were 
heard  behind  us  in  the  darkness :  "  Bravo !  bravo !  sing 

O 

something  more."  I  accompanied  as  best  I  could,  but  I 
did  not  sing  well ;  while  Hania  and  Selim  had  beautiful 
voices,  especially  Selim.  Sometimes,  when  I  went  too  far 
beyond  the  notes,  they  both  laughed  at  me.  Then  they 
hummed  some  other  songs,  during  which  I  thought,  "  Why 
does  Hania  hold  the  mane  of  Selim's  horse,  and  not 
the  mane  of  mine  ?  "  That  horse  pleased  her  peculiarly. 
Sometimes  she  nestled  up  to  its  neck,  or,  patting  it,  re- 
peated, "  My  steed,  mine ! "  and  the  gentle  beast  snorted 
and  stretched  out  its  open  nostrils  toward  her  hand,  as  if 
looking  for  sugar.  All  this  caused  me  to  grow  sad  again, 
and  I  looked  at  nothing  save  that  hand,  which  continued 
to  rest  on  the  horse's  mane. 

Meanwhile  we  reached  the  cross  at  the  end  of  the  lin- 
den-trees. Selim  bade  good-night  to  all:  he  kissed  the 
hands  of  Pani  d'Yves  and  wished  to  kiss  Hania's ;  but  she 
would  not  consent,  and  looked  at  me  as  if  afraid.  But  as 
a  recompense,  when  he  was  on  horseback  she  approached 
him  and  spoke.  In  the  light  of  the  moon,  unobstructed 
in  that  place,  I  saw  her  eyes  raised  to  Selim's,  and  the 
sweet  expression  of  her  face. 

"Do  not  forget  Pan  Henryk.  We  shall  always  amuse 
ourselves  and  sing  together,  and  now  good-night!"  said 
she,  giving  him  her  hand. 

Hania  and  the  older  people  went  toward  the  house, 


HANIA.  87 

Selim  and  I  toward  the  meadows.  We  rode  on  some 
time  in  silence  by  an  open  road  without  trees.  Bound 
about  it  was  so  bright  that  one  might  count  the  needle- 
like  leaves  on  the  low  juniper  bushes  growing  by  the 
road.  From  time  to  time  the  horses  snorted,  or  a  stirrup 
struck  against  a  stirrup.  I  looked  at  Selim ;  he  was 
thoughtful  and  turned  his  eyes  to  the  depths  of  night. 
I  had  an  overpowering  desire  to  speak  of  Hania.  I  felt 
the  need  of  confessing  to  some  one  the  impressions  of  the 
day,  of  telling  every  word  of  hers,  but  not  a  movement 
could  I  make ;  I  knew  not  how  to  begin  that  conversation. 
Selim  began  it  first,  for  suddenly,  neither  from  one  reason 
nor  another,  he  bent  toward  me,  and  embracing  my  neck 
kissed  me  on  the  cheek,  and  cried,  — 

"Ah,  my  Henry k !  how  beautiful  and  charming  thy 
Hania  is  !  Let  the  devil  take  Yozia  ! " 

This  exclamation  chilled  me  like  a  sudden  breath  of 
wintry  wind.  I  made  no  answer,  but  removed  Selirn's 
arm  from  my  neck,  and,  pushing  him  away,  rode  on  in 
silence.  I  saw  that  he  was  greatly  confused,  and  had 
grown  silent  also  ;  after  a  while,  turning  to  me,  he  said, — 

"  Art  thou  angry  about  something  ? " 

"Thou  art  a  child!" 

"  Perhaps  thou  art  jealous  ? " 

I  reined  in  my  horse. 

"  Good-night  to  thee,  Selim." 

It  was  evident  that  he  had  no  desire  to  take  further 
farewell,  but  he  stretched  out  his  hand  mechanically  for 
pressure.  Then  he  opened  his  lips  as  if  to  say  some- 
thing ;  but  I  turned  my  horse  quickly,  and  trotted  toward 
home. 

"  Good-night ! "  cried  Selim. 

He  stood  a  while  yet  on  the  same  spot,  then  rode 
slowly  toward  Horeli. 


88  HANIA. 

Lessening  my  speed,  I  rode  at  a  walk.  The  night  was 
beautiful,  calm,  warm ;  the  meadows,  covered  with  dew, 
seemed  like  broad  lakes.  From  those  meadows  came  the 
voices  of  land  rails ;  bitterns  were  calling  in  the  distant 
reeds.  I  raised  my  eyes  to  the  starry  immensity;  I 
wanted  to  pray  and  to  cry. 

Suddenly  I  heard  the  tramp  of  a  horse  behind  me.  I 
looked  around ;  it  was  Selim.  He  had  caught  up,  and, 
coming  before  me  in  the  road,  said  with  a  voice  full  of 
emotion,  — 

"Henryk!  I  have  come  back  because  something  is  the 
matter  with  thee.  At  first  I  thought :  '  if  he  is  angry,  let 
him  be  angry  ! '  But  afterward  I  grew  sorry  for  thee.  I 
could  not  restrain  myself.  Tell  me  what  the  matter  is. 
Perhaps  I  have  spoken  too  much  with  Hauia  ?  Perhaps 
thou  art  in  love  with  her,  Henryk  ? " 

Tears  stopped  my  throat,  and  I  could  answer  nothing  at 
once.  If  I  had  followed  my  first  inspiration,  thrown  my- 
self on  Selim's  honest  breast,  cried  there,  and  confessed 
all !  Ah  !  I  remember  that  whenever  I  met  an  outpour- 
ing of  the  heart  in  another,  and  opened  my  own  heart 
affectionately  in  response,  a  kind  of  irresistible,  rebellious 
pride,  which  should  have  been  broken  as  a  stone  with  a 
pickaxe,  froze  my  heart  and  bound  the  words  on  my  lips. 
How  many  times  has  my  happiness  been  ruined  by  that 
pride,  and  always  have  I  regretted  it  later !  Still  at  the 
first  moment  I  could  never  resist  it. 

"  I  was  sorry  for  thee,"  continued  Selim. 

So  he  had  compassion  on  me;  that  was  sufficient  to 
shut  my  mouth.  I  was  silent.  He  gazed  at  me  with 
his  angelic  eyes ;  he  spoke  with  an  accent  of  entreaty 
and  repentance  in  his  voice, — 

"  Henryk !  Perhaps  thou  lovest  her  ?  She,  as  thou 
seest,  has  pleased  me,  but  let  this  be  the  end.  If  thou 


HANIA.  89 

wish,  I  will  not  say  another  word  to  her.  Tell  me :  per- 
haps thou  art  in  love  with  her  already  ?  What  hast  thou 
against  me  ? " 

"  I  do  not  love  her,  and  I  have  nothing  against  thee. 
I  am  a  little  weak.  I  was  thrown  from  the  horse  ;  I  got 
shaken.  I  am  not  at  all  in  love ;  I  only  fell  from  the 
horse.  Good-night  to  thee  ! " 

"  Henryk  !  Henryk  ! " 

"  I  repeat  to  thee,  I  was  thrown  from  the  horse." 

We  parted  again.  Selim  kissed  me  in  farewell,  and 
rode  away  more  calmly ;  for,  in  truth,  it  might  be  supposed 
that  the  fall  had  had  that  effect  on  me.  I  remained 
alone,  with  a  straitened  heart,  in  a  kind  of  deep  sorrow,  in 
tears  which  stopped  my  throat,  moved  by  Selim's  kind- 
ness, angry  with  myself,  and  cursing  my  conduct  in  hav- 
ing repulsed  him.  I  let  the  horse  go  at  a  gallop,  and 
soon  I  was  before  the  mansion. 

The  windows  of  the  drawing-room  were  lighted ;  the 
sound  of  the  piano  came  through  them.  I  gave  the  horse 
to  Franek,  and  entered.  Hania  was  playing  some  song 
which  I  did  not  know ;  she  was  playing  for  herself,  falsi- 
fying the  melody  with  all  a  dilettante's  confidence,  for  it 
was  not  long  since  she  had  begun  to  learn,  but  it  was 
more  than  sufficient  to  enchant  my  spirit,  which  was 
much  more  in  love  than  it  was  musical.  When  I  entered, 
she  smiled  at  me  without  ceasing  to  play.  I  threw  my- 
self into  an  armchair  standing  opposite,  and  looked  at 
her.  Over  the  music-rack  her  clear,  serene  forehead  was 
visible,  and  her  brows,  outlined  symmetrically.  Her  eye- 
lashes were  downcast,  for  she  was  looking  at  the  keys. 
She  played  some  time  yet,  then  stopped,  and,  raising  her 
eyes  on  me,  said  in  a  fondling,  soft  voice,  — 

"  Pan  Henryk  ?  " 

"What,  Hania?" 


90  HANIA. 

"I  wanted  to  ask  something  —  Ah !  Have  you  invited 
Selim  for  to-morrow  ? " 

"No.  Father  wishes  us  to  go  to  Ustrytsi  to-morrow, 
for  a  package  has  come  from  mother  for  Pani  Ustrytski." 

Hania  was  silent,  and  struck  a  few  soft  notes ;  but  it 
was  evident  that  she  did  so  only  mechanically,  while 
thinking  of  something  else,  for  after  a  while  she  raised 
her  eyes  and  said, — 

"  Pan  Henryk  ?  " 

"  What,  Hania  ? " 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  about  something  —  Ah  !  here 
it  is  !  Is  that  Yozia  in  Warsaw  very  pretty  ? " 

That  was  too  much  ;  anger,  mixed  with  vexation,  pressed 
my  heart.  I  approached  the  piano  quickly ;  my  lips  were 
trembling  when  I  answered,— 

"  Not  prettier  than  thou.  Be  at  rest.  Thou  mayst  try 
thy  charms  boldly  on  Selim." 

Hania  rose  from  the  piano  stool ;  a  burning  blush  of 
offence  covered  her  face. 

"  Pan  Henryk  !  what  do  you  say  ? " 

"  That  which  thou  wert  aiming  at." 

I  seized  my  hat,  bowed  to  her,  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTEK   VII. 

IT  is  easy  to  divine  how  I  passed  the  night  after  those 
vexations  of  a  whole  day.  When  I  had  lain  down, 
I  asked  myself  first  of  all  what  had  happened,  and  why  I 
had  had  such  adventures.  The  answer  was  easy :  Noth- 
ing had  happened ;  that  is,  I  could  not  reproach  either 
Selim  or  Hania  with  anything  which  might  not  be  ex- 
plained by  the  friendliness  which  bound  us  all  equally, 
or  by  curiosity,  or  by  mutual  sympathy.  That  Selim 


HANIA.  91 

pleased  Hania,  and  she  him,  was  more  than  certain ;  but 
what  right  had  I  to  be  angered  because  of  that,  and  de- 
stroy every  one's  peace  ?  Not  they  were  at  fault,  but  I. 
This  thought  should  have  calmed  me,  but  the  opposite 
happened.  No  matter  how  I  explained  their  mutual 
relations,  though  I  saw  that  I  had  caused  many  vexations 
unjustly  to  both,  still,  I  felt  that  a  certain  unspeakable 
danger  was  impending  in  the  future ;  this  consideration, 
that  the  danger  was  not  tangible,  that  it  could  not  be 
put  in  the  form  of  a  reproach  against  Selim  or  Hania, 
made  it  felt  all  the  more  keenly  by  me.  Besides  this,  I 
thought  of  one  other  thing ;  namely,  that  not  having  the 
right  to  reproach  them,  I  had  still  sufficient  reason  for 
alarm.  These  were  all  subtleties  of  the  case,  almost  im- 
possible to  be  seized,  in  which  my  mind,  still  unsophis- 
ticated, was  entangled  and  tortured  as  if  amid  snares  and 
darkness.  I  felt  simply  wearied  and  broken,  like  a  man 
who  has  made  a  long  journey  ;  arid  still  one  other  thought, 
bitter  and  painful,  came  back  to  my  head  without  ceas- 
ing ;  namely,  this,  that  it  was  I,  expressly  I,  who  by  jeal- 
ousy and  awkwardness,  was  impelling  those  two  persons 
toward  each  other.  Oh,  how  much  knowledge  had  I 
been  acquiring,  though  I  had  no  knowledge  whatever! 
Such  things  are  divined.  What  is  more,  I  knew  that, 
amid  all  these  wrong  paths,  I  should  go,  not  where  I 
wished  to  go,  but  where  I  should  be  urged  by  feelings 
and  circumstances,  not  infrequently  temporary  and  insuf- 
ficient, but  which  are  somehow  important  and  on  which 
happiness  often  depends.  I  was  very  unhappy ;  and 
though  those  vexations  of  mine  might  seem  foolish  to 
some  persons,  I  will  say  this,  that  the  greatness  of  any 
misfortune  depends  not  on  what  it  is  in  itself,  but  on  how 
one  feels  it. 

And  still   nothing   had   happened.     Lying  in   bed,   I 


92  HANIA. 

repeated  these  words  to  myself,  till  gradually  my 
thoughts  began  to  grow  dim,  to  scatter,  and  to  fall  into 
the  usual  disorder  of  sleep.  Various  strange  elements 
pushed  themselves  into  this  disorder.  My  father's  narra- 
tives, persons  and  events  in  those  narratives,  were  joined 
then  with  Selim,  Hania,  and  my  love.  Perhaps  I  had 
some  fever,  all  the  more  since  I  had  fallen.  The  wick 
of  the  burnt  candle  dropped  all  at  once  into  the  candle- 
stick ;  it  grew  dark,  then  blue  flame  flickered  up,  then  less 
of  it,  and  still  less,  till  at  last  the  expiring  light  shone 
brightly  and  died.  It  must  have  been  late ;  the  cocks 
were  crowing  outside  the  window.  I  fell  into  an  oppres- 
sive, unhealthy  sleep,  out  of  which  I  rose  not  very 
quickly. 

Next  morning  it  appeared  that  I  had  slept  past  the 
breakfast  hour,  and  past  the  chance  of  seeing  Hania 
before  dinner,  for  she  had  lessons  till  two  with  Pani 
d'Yves.  But  after  a  long  sleep  I  took  courage,  and  did 
not  look  on  the  world  as  so  black.  "I  will  be  kind 
and  cordial  to  Hania,  and  thus  make  amends  for  yester- 
day's peevishness,"  thought  I. 

Meanwhile,  I  had  not  foreseen  one  circumstance; 
namely,  that  my  last  words  had  not  only  annoyed,  but 
offended  her.  When  she  came  in  with  Pani  d'Yves  to 
dinner,  I  hurried  toward  her  quickly;  and  all  at  once, 
as  if  some  one  had  poured  water  on  me,  I  withdrew 
again  into  myself  with  my  cordiality,  not  because  I 
wished  to  do  so,  but  because  I  was  repulsed.  Hania 
answered  very  politely,  "  Good-day,"  but  so  coldly  that  all 
wish  for  heartfelt  effusions  deserted  me.  I  sat  down  near 
Pani  d'Yves,  and  during  the  whole  dinner  Hania  seemed 
not  to  take  note  of  my  existence.  I  confess  that  that 
existence  appeared  then  so  empty  and  pitiful  in  my  eyes 
that  if  any  man  had  offered  three  coppers  for  it  I  would 


HANIA.  93 

have  told  him  to  deliver  the  money.  What  was  I  to  do  ? 
The  desire  for  resistance  was  roused  in  me,  and  I  deter- 
mined to  pay  Hania  in  the  same  coin.  That  was  a 
wonderful  role  regarding  a  person  whom  one  loves  above 
everything.  I  could  say  truly,  "  Lips  abuse  thee,  though 
the  heart  weeps  ! "  During  the  whole  dinner  we  did  not 
speak  once  directly,  only  through  the  medium  of  others. 
When  Hania  said,  for  example,  that  there  would  be  rain 
toward  the  evening,  I  turned  to  Pani  d'Yves,  and  told  her, 
and  not  Hania,  that  there  would  be  no  rain.  This  pouting 
and  bickering  had  a  certain  exciting  charm  for  me.  "  I 
am  curious  to  know,  my  young  lady,  how  we  shall  get  on 
in  Ustrytsi,  for  we  must  go  there,"  thought  I.  "In 
Ustrytsi,  I  will  ask  her  something  purposely  in  the  pres- 
ence of  others  ;  she  must  answer  then,  and  so  the  ice  will 
be  broken."  I  promised  myself  much  from  that  visit. 
True,  I  had  to  go  with  Pani  d'Yves ;  but  how  would  that 
harm  me  ?  At  present  I  cared  much  more  for  this,  that 
no  one  at  the  table  should  take  note  of  our  anger.  Should 
any  one  notice  it,  thought  I,  that  one  would  ask  if  we  were 
angry ;  then  all  would  be  discovered,  all  would  come  out. 
At  the  very  thought  of  this,  a  blush  came  to  my  face,  and 
fear  pressed  my  heart.  But,  oh,  wonder!  I  saw  that 
Hania  feared  this  much  less  than  I ;  besides,  she  saw  my 
fear,  and  in  her  soul  was  amused  at  it.  In  turn,  I  felt 
overcome ;  but  for  the  moment  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done.  Ustrytsi  was  waiting  for  me,  so  I  caught  at  that 
thought  as  a  plank  of  salvation. 

Hania  was  thinking  too  of  it,  for  after  dinner,  when  she 
brought  black  coffee  to  my  father,  she  kissed  his  hand 
and  said,  — 

"I  beg  not  to  go  to  Ustrytsi." 

"  Ah,  what  a  rogue,  what  a  rogue,  that  dear  Hania  ! " 
thought  I,  in  my  soul. 


94  HANIA. 

My  father,  who  was  a  little  deaf,  did  not  hear  at  once. 
Kissing  her  on  the  forehead,  he  asked,  — 

"  What  dost  thou  wish,  little  woman  ?  " 

"  I  have  one  prayer." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  That  I  may  not  go  to  Ustrytsi." 

"  But  why,  art  thou  ill  ? " 

"  If  she  says  that  she  is  ill,"  thought  I,  "  all  is  lost,  the 
more  since  my  father  is  in  good  humor." 

But  Hania  never  lied,  even  innocently ;  therefore,  in- 
stead of  masking  the  lack  of  wish  as  a  headache,  she 
answered,  — 

"  I  am  well,  but  I  do  not  like  to  go." 

"  Ah !  then  thou  wilt  go  to  Ustrytsi,  for  there  is  need 
of  thy  going." 

Hania  courtesied  and  went  away  without  saying  a 
word.  Had  it  been  proper,  I  should  have  gladly  shown 
her  zyg,  zyg,  zyg,  on  my  fingers. 

After  a  while  I  asked  my  father  why  he  ordered 
Hania  to  go. 

"I  wish  the  neighbors  to  see  in  her  our  relative,  and 
grow  familiar  with  that  position.  Hania  in  going  to 
Ustrytsi  goes  there,  so  to  speak,  in  the  name  of  thy 
mother ;  dost  understand  ?  " 

Not  only  did  I  understand,  but  I  wanted  to  kiss  my 
honest  father  for  that  thought. 

We  were  to  start  at  five  o'clock.  Hania  and  Pani 
d'Yves  were  then  dressing  upstairs.  I  gave  orders  to 
bring  out  a  light  carriage  for  two  persons,  since  I  in- 
tended to  go  myself  on  horseback.  It  was  three  miles  to 
Ustrytsi,  so  with  good  weather  we  had  a  very  pleasant 
drive  before  us.  Hania  came  down  dressed  in  black,  it  is 
true,  but  with  care  and  even  elegance,  for  such  was  my 
father's  desire.  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  from  her.  She 


HANIA.  95 

looked  so  beautiful  that  I  felt  my  heart  soften  immedi- 
ately ;  the  desire  for  resistance  and  the  artificial  coldness 
flew  away  somewhere  beyond  the  ninth  boundary.  But 
my  queen  passed  me  in  real  queenly  fashion ;  she  did  not 
even  look  at  me,  though  I  had  arrayed  myself  as  best  I 
knew  how.  I  may  add  in  passing  that  she  was  somewhat 
displeased,  for  really  she  had  no  desire  to  go,  though  that 
was  not  from  a  wish  to  annoy  me,  but  from  more  reason- 
able causes  which  I  discovered  later. 

At  five  o'clock  punctually  the  ladies  took  their  seats  in 
the  carriage,  and  I  mounted  my  horse;  we  started  to- 
gether. On  the  road  I  held  aside  from  Hania,  wishing  by 
all  means  to  arrest  her  attention.  In  fact,  she  looked 
at  me  once  when  my  horse  reared,  measured  me  with 
calm  eye  from  foot  to  head,  even  smiled,  I  thought, 
though  slightly,  which  gave  me  comfort  at  once ;  but 
she  turned  quickly  to  Pani  d'Yves  and  began  to  talk 
with  her  in  such  a  way  that  I  could  not  take  part  in 
the  conversation. 

We  came  at  last  to  Ustrytsi.  Selim  had  preceded  us. 
Pani  Ustrytski  was  not  there.  We  found  at  home  only 
Pan  Ustrytski,  the  two  governesses,  one  French,  the  other 
German,  and  Pan  Ustrytski's  daughters,  —  the  elder 
Lola,  a  rather  coquettish,  pretty,  chestnut-haired  person 
of  the  same  age  as  Hania,  and  the  younger,  Marynia,  a 
child  yet. 

After  the  first  greeting  the  ladies  went  at  once  to  the 
garden  for  strawberries;  but  Pan  Ustrytski  took  Selim 
and  me  to  show  us  his  new  weapons,  and  his  new  dogs 
for  hunting  wild  boars  ;  these  dogs  he  had  brought  at  great 
cost  from  Vrotslavie.  I  have  mentioned  already  that 
Pan  Ustrytski  was  the  most  passionate  hunter  in  that 
whole  region,  and  moreover  a  very  honorable  and  kind 
man,  as  active  as  he  was  rich.  He  had  only  one  fault, 


96  HANIA. 

which  made  him  annoying  to  me:  he  laughed  all  the 
time ;  every  few  words  he  slapped  his  stomach,  repeating, 
"  A  farce,  gracious  benefactor  !  What  is  it  called  ? "  For 
this  reason  people  spoke  of  him  as  "  Neighbor  Farce,"  or 
"  Neighbor  What-is-it-called." 

Well,  Neighbor  Farce  took  us  to  the  kennel,  not  con- 
sidering that  perhaps  we  preferred  a  hundred  times  to  be 
with  the  ladies  in  the  garden.  We  listened  for  a  while 
to  his  narratives,  till  at  last  I  remembered  something  I 
had  to  say  to  Pani  d'Yves,  and  Selim  said  right  out,  — 

"  All  this  is  very  well,  lord  benefactor.  The  dogs  are 
beautiful;  but  what  is  to  be  done  if  we  both  have  a 
greater  wish  to  go  to  the  young  ladies  ? " 

"  Ah,  a  farce,  gracious  benefactor  !  What  is  it  called  ? 
Well,  go  then ;  I  will  go  with  you." 

And  we  went.  Soon,  however,  it  appeared  that  I  had 
nothing  to  wish  for  so  greatly.  Hania,  who  somehow 
kept  apart  from  her  companions,  did  not  cease  to  ignore 
me,  and  occupied  herself  with  Selim  perhaps  purposely. 
It  fell  to  my  lot,  moreover,  to  amuse  Panna  Lola.  What 
1  talked  of,  how  I  avoided  talking  nonsense,  how  I  an- 
swered her  friendly  questions,  I  know  not ;  for  I  followed 
Selim  and  Hania  incessantly,  catching  their  words,  observ- 
ing their  looks  and  movements.  Selim  did  not  notice 
rne ;  but  Hania  did,  and  lowered  her  voice  designedly,  or 
looked  with  a  certain  coquettishness  on  her  companion, 
who  permitted  himself  to  be  borne  away  by  that  flood  of 
favor.  "  Wait,  Hania,"  thought  I ;  "  thou  art  acting  thus 
to  torment  me ;  I  will  treat  thee  in  the  same  way."  And 
taking  things  in  that  fashion,  I  turned  to  Panna  Lola. 
I  have  forgotten  to  say  that  this  young  person  had  a  special 
weakness  for  me,  and  showed  it  too  plainly.  I  began  to 
pay  court  to  her.  I  flattered  her,  and  laughed,  though  I 
had  a  greater  wish  to  cry  ;  but  Lola  looked  at  me,  radiant, 


HANIA.  97 

with  her  moist,  dark  blue  eyes,  and  fell  into  a  romantic 
frame  of  mind. 

Ah,  if  she  had  known  how  I  hated  her  at  that  moment ! 
But  I  was  so  absorbed  in  my  role  that  I  even  did  some- 
thing dishonorable.  When  Panna  Lola,  in  the  course  of 
conversation,  made  some  malicious  remark  about  Selim 
and  Hania,  though  in  my  soul  I  was  quivering  with 
anger,  I  did  not  answer  her  as  I  should  have  done,  but 
merely  smiled  rather  stupidly  and  passed  it  over  in 
silence. 

We  spent  about  an  hour  in  this  way ;  then  lunch  was 
served  under  a  weeping  chestnut,  which  touched  the 
earth  with  the  tips  of  its  branches  and  formed  a  green 
dome  above  our  heads.  Then  I  first  learned  that  Hania's 
repugnance  to  visiting  Ustrytsi  did  not  regard  me;  she 
had  better  reasons. 

The  matter  stood  simply  in  this  way :  Pani  d'Yves,  as  a 
descendant  of  an  ancient  noble  French  house,  and,  be- 
sides, better  educated  than  other  governesses,  thought  her- 
self somewhat  superior  to  the  French  woman  at  Ustrytsi, 
but  especially  superior  to  the  German ;  while  those  two 
in  their  turn  thought  themselves  better  than  Hania, 
because  her  grandfather  had  been  a  servant.  The  well- 
bred  Pani  d'  Yves  did  not  let  them  know  her  feelings,  but 
they  slighted  Hania  even  to  rudeness.  Those  were  com- 
mon feminine  quarrels  and  ambitions  ;  still  I  could  not  per- 
mit my  dear  Hania,  who  alone  was  worth  a  hundred  times 
more  than  all  Ustrytsi,  to  be  their  victim.  Hania  endured 
the  slight  with  tact  and  sweetness  which  did  honor  to  her 
character,  but  still  such  treatment  was  bitter  to  her.  Had 
Pani  Ustrytski  been  present,  nothing  of  the  kind  would 
have  happened,  but  at  that  moment  both  governesses  took 
advantage  of  the  favorable  occasion.  As  soon  as  Selim  sat 
near  Hania,  whispers  and  jests  began,  in  which  even  Panna 

7 


98  HANIA. 

Lola  took  some  part,  because  she  was  jealous  of  Hania's 
beauty.  I  rebuffed  those  taunts  a  number  of  times  sharply, 
perhaps  even  too  sharply ;  but  soon  Selim  took  my  place  in 
spite  of  me.  I  saw  a  flash  of  anger  shoot  across  his  brows  ; 
but  he  bethought  himself  quickly  and  turned  a  calm,  sneer- 
ing glance  on  the  governesses.  Incisive,  witty,  and  elo- 
quent as  few  persons  at  his  age,  he  soon  confused  them  so 
much  that  they  knew  not  where  to  take  refuge.  Pani 
d' Yves,  with  her  dignity,  aided  him,  and  also  I,  who  would 
have  driven  out  the  two  foreign  women.  Panna  Lola,  not 
wishing  to  offend  me,  came  over  also  to  our  side,  and, 
though  insincerely,  showed  Hania  a  kindness  twofold 
greater  than  usual.  In  a  word,  our  victory  was  perfect,  but 
unfortunately,  and  to  my  great  vexation,  the  chief  merit 
this  time  fell  also  to  Selim.  Hania,  who,  notwithstand- 
ing all  her  tact,  hardly  restrained  tears  from  suffusing  her 
eyes,  looked  at  Selim  as  her  savior,  with  thankfulness 
and  homage.  So  when  we  rose  from  the  table  and  began 
to  walk  again  through  the  garden  in  couples,  I  saw  her 
incline  toward  Selim,  and  heard  her  whisper,  — 

"  Pan  Selim  !     I  am  very  —  " 

Then  she  stopped  suddenly,  for  she  was  afraid  of  weep- 
ing ;  emotion  was  uppermost  in  spite  of  her. 

"  Panna  Hania,  do  not  mention  that.  Do  not  mind  it ;  do 
not  be  troubled." 

"  You  see  how  difficult  it  is  for  me  to  speak  of  this 
matter,  but  I  wished  to  thank  you." 

"For  what,  Panna  Hania  ?  For  what?  I  cannot  endure 
tears  in  your  eyes.  For  you  I  would  gladly  —  " 

Now  in  his  turn  he  did  not  finish,  for  he  could  not  find 
the  expression ;  and  perhaps  he  noticed  in  season  that 
he  had  let  the  feelings  with  which  his  breast  was  filled 
go  too  far,  so  he  turned  away  his  face  not  to  let  his  emo- 
tion be  seen,  and  was  silent. 


HANIA.  99 

Hania  looked  at  him  with  eyes  bright  from  tears,  and  I 
then  did  not  ask  what  had  happened. 

I  loved  Hania  with  all  the  power  of  a  youthful  soul ;  I 
deified  her ;  I  loved  her  with  the  love  which  is  only  in 
heaven.  I  loved  her  form,  her  eyes,  every  hair  of  her  head, 
the  sound  of  her  words.  I  loved  every  bit  of  her  dress. 
I  loved  the  air  which  she  breathed ;  that  love  pervaded 
rne  through  and  through,  and  was  not  only  in  my  heart, 
but  in  my  whole  being.  I  lived  only  in  her  and  through 
her ;  that  love  flowed  in  me  as  my  blood ;  it  radiated  from 
me  as  the  warmth  of  my  body.  For  others  something  be- 
sides love  might  exist ;  for  me  the  whole  world  existed 
in  love ;  there  was  nothing  beyond  it.  To  the  world  I  was 
blind,  deaf,  and  indifferent,  for  my  reason  and  senses  were 
held  by  that  single  feeling.  I  felt  that  I  was  blazing 
like  a  lighted  torch,  that  that  flame  was  devouring  me,  that 
I  was  dying.  What  was  that  love  ?  A  mighty  voice,  a 
mighty  calling  of  one  soul  to  another,  "  My  deified,  my 
sacred  one,  my  love,  hear  me  ! "  I  did  not  inquire  what 
had  happened,  for  I  understood  that  not  to  me,  not  to  me, 
was  Hania  answering  that  heart  question.  In  the  midst 
of  indifferent  people,  a  man  thirsting  for  love  wanders  as 
in  a  forest,  and  he  shouts  and  calls  as  in  a  forest,  waiting 
to  learn  if  some  voice  of  sympathy  will  answer  him ;  so 
now  I  did  not  ask  any  longer  what  had  happened,  for  be- 
side my  own  love  and  my  own  useless  shouting,  I  felt  and 
overheard  two  voices  in  sympathy,  the  voices  of  Selim 
and  Hania.  They  were  calling  to  each  other  mutually 
with  the  voices  of  hearts  ;  they  were  calling  unfortunately 
for  me,  and  they  themselves  did  not  know  that.  One  was  to 
the  other  as  a  forest  echo,  and  one  followed  the  other  as 
the  echo  follows  the  voice.  And  what  could  I  do  against 
this  necessity  which  they  could  call  happiness,  but  which 
I  must  call  misfortune  ?  What  could  avail  against  that 


100  HANI  A. 

order  of  nature,  against  that  fatal  logic  of  things  ?  How 
win  Hania's  heart  when  some  irresistible  power  was  im- 
pelling it  in  another  direction  ? 

I  separated  from  the  company  and  sat  on  a  bench  of  the 
garden,  and  thoughts  like  these  were  sounding  in  my  head, 
like  flocks  of  frightened  birds.  A  madness  of  despair  and 
suffering  seized  me.  I  felt  that  in  the  midst  of  my 
family,  in  the  midst  of  well-wishing  hearts,  I  was  lonely. 
To  me  the  whole  world  seemed  a  desert,  seemed  orphaned ; 
the  heaven  above  me  was  so  indifferent  to  the  wrong  done 
by  people  that  in  spite  of  me  one  thought  beyond  others 
mastered  me,  swallowed  everything,  and  covered  me  with 
its  gloomy  peace.  The  name  of  it  was  death.  And  then, 
an  escape  from  that  vicious  circle,  an  end  to  sufferings,  an 
end  of  all  that  sad  comedy,  a  cutting  of  all  the  painful 
knots  binding  the  soul,  and  repose  after  torture,  —  ah ! 
that  repose,  for  which  I  was  so  thirsty,  that  dark  repose, 
that  repose  of  nothingness,  but  calm  and  eternal. 

I  was  one  exhausted  by  tears,  by  suffering  and  drowsi- 
ness. Oh,  to  sleep !  to  sleep  at  any  price,  even  at  the 
price  of  life.  Then  from  the  calm  immense  blue  of  heaven 
to  which  my  former  faith  of  childhood  had  fled,  one  thought 
flew  to  me  like  a  bird  and  sat  in  my  brain.  That  thought 
was  in  the  brief  words  :  but  if  — 

That  was  a  new  circle  in  which  I  was  involved  by  the 
force  of  implacable  necessity.  Oh,  I  suffered  greatly,  but 
there  from  the  neighboring  alley  joyous  words  came  to  me, 
or  low,  half -audible  whispers  of  conversation.  Around  me 
was  the  odor  of  flowers  ;  on  the  trees  twittering  birds  were 
settling  themselves  to  rest ;  above  me  hung  the  calm  sky, 
ruddy  with  the  evening  twilight.  All  was  peaceful,  all 
happy  ;  amidst  that  bloom  of  life,  in  pain  and  with  set  teeth, 
I  alone  desired  to  die.  Suddenly  I  trembled ;  before  me 
rustled  the  dress  of  a  woman. 


HANI  A.  101 

I  looked  ;  it  was  Panna  Lola.  She  was  calm  and  mild  ; 
she  looked  at  me  with  sympathy,  and  perhaps  with  more 
than  sympathy.  Amidst  the  light  of  evening  and  the 
shadows  cast  by  the  trees,  she  seemed  pale  ;  her  abundant 
tresses,  unwound  as  if  by  chance,  fell  upon  her  shoulders. 

At  that  moment  I  did  not  feel  any  hatred  toward  her. 
"Oh,  thou  single  compassionate  soul!"  thought  I,  "dost 
thou  come  to  console  me  ? " 

"Pan  Henryk,  you  are  somehow  sad,  perhaps  suffer- 
ing?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  suffering,"  cried  I,  with  an  outburst ;  and 
seizing  her  hand  I  placed  it  against  my  burning  forehead, 
then  I  kissed  it  quickly  and  ran  off. 

"  Pan  Henryk  ! "  cried  she  after  me,  in  a  low  voice. 

But  at  that  moment,  at  the  crossing  of  the  paths, 
appeared  Selirn  and  Hania.  Both  had  seen  my  outburst, 
had  seen  me  kiss  and  press  Lola's  hand  to  my  forehead, 
so  smiling,  they  exchanged  glances,  as  if  saying  to  each 
other,  "  We  understand  what  that  means." 

But  soon  it  was  time  to  go  home.  Immediately  beyond 
the  gate  Selim's  road  lay  in  another  direction,  but  I  was 
afraid  that  lie  might  wish  to  conduct  us.  I  mounted  in 
haste,  and  said  aloud  that  it  was  late,  and  time  for  Selim 
and  me.  When  parting,  I  received  from  Panna  Lola  a 
wonderfully  warm  pressure  of  the  hand,  to  which  I  gave 
no  response. 

Selim  turned  immediately  beyond  the  gate  ;  for  the 
first  time  he  kissed  Hania's  hand  for  good-night,  and  she 
did  not  forbid. 

She  ceased  to  ignore  me.  She  was  in  too  mild  a  mood 
to  remember  the  morning  anger,  but  I  interpreted  that 
mood  of  mind  in  the  worst  sense  possible.  Pani  d'Yves 
fell  asleep  after  a  few  moments,  and  began  to  nod  in  all 
directions.  I  looked  at  Hania.  She  was  not  asleep  ;  her 


102  HANIA. 

eyes,  opened  widely,  were  bright  as  if  from  happiness. 
She  did  not  break  the  silence ;  she  was  evidently  too 
much  occupied  with  her  own  thoughts.  Only  when  near 
the  house  did  she  look  at  me,  and,  seeing  that  I  was  so 
meditative,  she  asked,  — 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking  ?     Is  it  of  Lola  ? " 
I  did  not  answer  a  word ;  I  only  gritted  my  teeth.    Tear, 
tear  me,  if  that  gives  thee  pleasure ;  from  me  thou  wrilt 
not  get  one  groan. 

Hania  in  reality  had  not  even  dreamed  of  tearing  me. 
She  asked,  for  she  had  a  right  to  ask.  Astonished  at  my 
silence,  she  repeated  the  question.  Again  I  gave  no 
answer.  She  thought,  therefore,  that  it  was  pouting  con- 
tinued since  morning,  and  so  was  silent. 


CHAPTEK   VIII. 

ONE  morning,  some  days  later,  the  first  ruddy  light 
of  early  dawn  came  in  through  a  heart  cut  in  the 
window-shutter,  and  roused  me  from  sleep.  Soon  after, 
some  one  knocked  on  the  shutter  ;  and  in  the  rosy  opening 
appeared,  not  the  face  of  Mitskewich's  Zosia,  who  in  a 
similar  manner  roused  Tadeush,  nor  of  my  Hania  either, 
but  the  nmstached  face  of  Vah,  the  forester,  and  his  deep 
voice  cried, — 

"  Panich  ! " 

"  What  ? " 

"Wolves  are  following  a  wolf  bitch  in  the  Pohorovy 
woods.  Shall  we  go  to  lure  them  ? " 

"  Eight  away  ! " 

I  dressed,  took  my  gun  and  hunter's  knife,  and  went 
out.  Vah  was  all  wet  from  the  morning  dew ;  on  his 
shoulder  was  a  single-barrelled  gun,  long  and  rusty,  but 


HANIA.  103 

he  never  missed  aim  with  this  piece.  It  was  early  ;  the  sun 
had  not  risen  yet.  People  had  not  gone  to  their  work,  nor 
cattle  to  pasture.  The  sky  was  only  colored  blue,  rosy 
and  golden  on  the  east ;  on  the  west  it  was  sombre.  The 
old  man  hurried  in  his  fashion. 

"  I  have  a  horse  and  cart.  Let  us  ride  to  the  Pits," 
said  he. 

We  took  our  seats  and  drove  on.  Just  beyond  the 
granaries  a  hare,  or  rabbit,  sprang  out  of  the  oats,  ran 
across  the  road  and  into  the  meadow,  marking  with  a 
darker  trace  the  surface  silvered  over  by  dew. 

"A  cat  crosses  the  road  !"  said  the  forester;  "a  charm 
on  a  dog  !  "  Then  added  :  "  It  is  late  already.  The  earth 
will  soon  get  a  shadow." 

This  meant  that  the  sun  would  rise  before  long,  for 
with  the  light  of  dawn  bodies  cast  no  shadow. 

"  But  is  it  bad  hunting  when  there  are  shadows  ? " 
asked  I. 

"  With  long  shadows  it  is  passable,  but  with  short  ones 
useless  work." 

In  hunter's  language  this  meant  that  the  later  the 
hour,  the  worse  the  hunting,  for,  as  is  known,  the  nearer 
midday  the  shorter  the  shadows. 

"  Where  shall  we  begin  ?  "  asked  I 

"  At  the  Pits  in  the  Pohorovy  woods." 

The  Pohorovy  woods  were  a  part  of  the  forest  which 
was  very  dense,  —  that  part  where  "  the  Pits"  were;  that 
is,  holes  made  by  the  roots  of  old  trees  thrown  down  by 
storms. 

"  And  do  you  think  that  luring  will  succeed  ? " 

"  I  will  begin  to  play  as  a  wolf  bitch,  perhaps  some  wolf 
will  come." 

"  But  he  may  not." 

"  Ei !  he  will  come." 


104  HANIA. 

When  we  reached  Vah's  cottage  we  left  the  horse  and 
cart,  and  went  forward  on  foot.  After  half  an  hour's  walk, 
when  the  sun  had  begun  to  rise,  we  sat  down  in  a  pit. 

Round  about  us  was  a  thicket  of  impenetrable  small 
growth  ;  only  here  and  there  were  enormous  trees.  The 
pit  was  so  deep  that  even  our  heads  were  concealed  in  it. 

"  Now  back  to  back  !  "  muttered  Vah. 

We  sat  back  to  back  ;  above  the  surface  of  the  ground 
appeared  only  the  crowns  of  our  heads  and  the  gun- 
barrels. 

"  Listen  ! "  said  Vah.     "  I  will  play." 

Putting  two  fingers  in  his  mouth  and  modulating  his 
drawling  voice  with  them,  he  began  to  imitate  a  wolf 
bitch ;  that  is,  to  howl  like  a  she-wolf  when  she  entices 
he-wolves. 

"  Listen  ! " 

And  he  placed  his  ear  to  the  ground. 

I  heard  nothing,  but  Vah  took  his  face  from  the  earth 
and  whispered,  — 

"  Oh,  there  is  sport,  but  far  away,  two  miles." 

Then  he  waited  a  quarter  of  an  hour ;  again  he  put  his 
fingers  to  his  mouth  and  howled.  The  doleful,  ominous 
sound  passed  through  the  thicket ;  and  far,  far  away  it 
flew  over  the  damp  earth,  rebounding  from  pine  to  pine. 
Vah  put  his  ear  to  the  ground  again. 

"  They  are  playing,  but  not  farther  than  a  mile  away." 

Indeed,  I  heard  then,  as  it  were  a  distant  echo  of  howl- 
ing, very  far  away  yet,  barely  audible. 

"  Where  will  it  come  out  ? "  asked  I. 

"  On  you,  Panich." 

Vah  howled  a  third  time  ;  a  howling  answered  quite 
near  now.  I  grasped  the  gun  more  firmly,  and  we  held 
the  breath  in  our  breasts.  The  silence  was  absolute ;  a 
breeze  merely  shook  from  hazel-nut  bushes  dewdrops, 


HANIA.  105 

which  fell  pattering  on  the  leaves.  From  afar,  from  the 
other  edge  of  the  forest,  came  the  calling  of  wood  grouse. 

Suddenly,  some  three  hundred  yards  distant,  something 
shook  in  the  forest.  The  juniper  bushes  moved  quickly, 
and  from  the  midst  of  the  dark  needle-like  leaves  emerged 
a  triangular  head,  gray,  with  pointed  ears  and  red  eyes.  I 
could  not  shoot,  for  the  head  was  too  far  away,  so  I  waited 
patiently,  though  with  beating  heart.  Soon  the  whole  beast 
came  out  of  the  junipers,  and  with  a  few  short  springs  ran 
up  toward  the  pit,  smelling  carefully  on  every  side.  At 
one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  the  wolf  halted  and  listened, 
as  if  foreboding  something.  I  saw  that  he  would  not  come 
nearer,  and  drew  the  trigger. 

The  report  of  the  gun  was  mingled  with  the  painful 
cry  of  the  wolf.  I  sprang  out  of  the  pit,  Vah  after  me, 
but  we  did  not  find  the  wolf  at  the  place.  Vah,  however, 
examined  the  spot  carefully  where  the  dew  was  wiped 
away  on  the  ground,  and  said,  — 

"  He  colors  ! " 

Indeed,  there  were  traces  of  blood  on  the  grass. 

"  You  have  n't  missed,  though  far.  He  is  coloring. 
Oh,  he  is  coloring !  We  must  follow." 

And  so  we  went.  Here  and  there  we  came  upon 
trampled  grass  and  more  traces  of  blood.  The  wounded 
wolf  rested  from  time  to  time ;  that  was  evident.  Mean- 
while an  hour  passed  in  woods  and  thickets,  then  a 
second.  The  sun  was  now  high ;  we  had  gone  over  an 
immense  piece  of  road  without  finding  a  thing  except 
traces,  which  at  times  disappeared  altogether.  Then  we 
came  to  the  corner  of  the  forest ;  traces  continued  for  about 
two  versts  more  through  a  field  toward  the  pond,  and  were 
lost  at  last  in  swampy  ground  covered  with  reeds  and 
sweet  flag.  It  was  impossible  to  go  farther  without  a 
dog. 


106  HANIA. 

"  He  will  stay  there ;  I  shall  find  him  to-morrow,"  said 
Vah,  and  we  turned  toward  home. 

Soon  I  ceased  to  think  of  Vah's  wolf  and  the  result  of 
the  hunt,  which  was  rather  unfortunate.  I  returned  to  my 
usual  circle  of  suffering.  When  we  were  approaching 
the  forest,  a  hare  sprang  up  almost  from  under  my  feet ; 
instead  of  shooting  it,  I  trembled,  as  if  roused  from  sleep. 

"  Ah  ! "  cried  Vah,  in  indignation,  "  I  would  shoot  my 
own  brother  if  he  jumped  up  in  that  way." 

I  only  laughed  and  went  on  in  silence.  When  cross- 
ing the  so-called  "  forest  road  "  which  led  to  the  highway 
of  Horeli,  I  saw  fresh  tracks  of  a  horse  wearing  shoes. 

"  Do  you  know,  Vah,  what  tracks  these  are  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  they  are  made  by  the  young 
Panich  from  Horeli,  on  his  way  to  the  mansion." 

"Then  I  will  go  to  the  mansion.     Farewell,  Vah." 

Vah  begged  me  timidly  to  go  to  his  cottage,  which  was 
not  far,  to  refresh  myself  a  little.  I  saw  that  in  case  of 
refusal  I  should  cause  him  great  pain  ;  still  I  refused,  but 
promised  to  come  next  morning.  I  did  not  wish  to  leave 
Selim  and  Hania  together  long  without  me. 

During  the  five  days  which  had  passed  since  the  visit 
to  Ustrytsi  Selim  had  come  almost  daily.  But  I  guarded 
them  like  the  eye  in  my  head,  and  to-day  for  the  first 
time  came  the  chance  that  they  could  be  alone.  "Now," 
thought  I,  "  it  will  come  to  a  confession  between  them," 
and  I  felt  that  I  was  growing  as  pale  as  he  who  loses 
hope  of  hope. 

I  feared  this  as  a  misfortune,  an  unavoidable  sentence 
of  death,  which  we  know  to  be  coming,  but  which  we 
delay  as  long  as  possible. 

On  reaching  home.  I  met  Father  Ludvik  in  front  of  the 
mansion,  with  a  bag  on  his  head,  and  a  wire  net  over  his 
face ;  he  was  going  to  the  beehives. 


HANIA.  107 

"  Is  Selim  here,  Father  Ludvik  ? "  asked  I. 

"  He  is  ;  he  came  about  an  hour  and  a  half  ago." 

"  Where  shall  I  find  him  ? " 

"  He  went  to  the  pond  with  Hania  and  Evunia." 

I  ran  to  the  garden  quickly,  then  to  the  brink  of  the 
pond  where  the  boats  were.  One  of  the  largest  was 
missing.  I  looked  out  over  the  pond,  but  at  first  could 
see  nothing.  I  guessed  that  Selim  must  have  turned  to 
the  right  toward  the  alders ;  in  this  way  the  boat  and 
those  in  it  were  concealed  by  the  reeds  on  the  bank.  I 
seized  an  oar,  sprang  into  a  one-seated  boat,  pushed  out 
quietly,  kept  among  the  reeds,  did  not  leave  them.  There 
I  could  see  without  being  visible. 

In  fact,  I  soon  saw  them.  On  a  broad  part  of  the  pond, 
free  of  reeds,  was  a  motionless  boat,  the  oars  hanging.  At 
one  end  was  sitting  my  little  sister,  Evunia,  turned  away 
from  Hania  and  Selim ;  at  the  other  end  were  the  two. 
Evunia,  bending  over  the  boat,  struck  the  water  joyously 
with  her  little  hands,  and  was  occupied  entirely  with  this 
amusement  ;  but  Selim  and  Hania,  almost  leaning  against 
each  other,  seemed  absorbed  in  conversation.  Not  the 
least  breath  of  wind  wrinkled  the  transparent  blue  sur- 
face ;  the  boat,  Hania,  Evunia,  and  Selim  were  reflected 
in  it  as  in  a  mirror,  calm,  motionless. 

That  was  a  very  beautiful  picture,  perhaps,  but  at  sight 
of  it  the  blood  rushed  to  my  head ;  I  understood  every- 
thing. They  had  taken  Evunia,  for  the  child  could  not  be 
in  their  way  or  understand  their  confessions.  They  took 
her  for  appearance'  sake.  "  All  is  over,"  thought  I.  "  All 
is  over !  "  sounded  the  reeds.  "  All  is  over  ! "  blurted  out 
the  ripple,  striking  the  side  of  my  boat ;  and  it  grew 
dark  in  my  eyes.  I  felt  cold  and  hot.  T  felt  that  pallor 
was  covering  my  face.  "  Thou  hast  lost  Hania  !  thou  hast 
lost  her !  "  cried  voices  above  me  and  in  me.  Then  I 


108  HANIA. 

heard,  as  it  were,  the  same  voices  crying,  "  Jesus,  Mary  ! " 
and  then  these  continued,  "  Push  up  nearer  ;  hide  in  the 
reeds ;  thou  wilt  see  more ! "  I  obeyed,  and  pushed  on 
with  the  boat  as  silently  as  a  cat.  But  at  that  distance  I 
could  not  hear  conversation ;  I  only  saw  more  distinctly 
that  they  were  sitting  side  by  side  on  one  bench,  not  hold- 
ing each  other's  hands,  but  Selim  was  turned  toward 
Hania.  It  seemed  to  me  after  a  while  that  he  was  kneel- 
ing before  her,  but  it  only  seemed  so.  He  was  turned 
toward  her  and  was  looking  at  her  entreatingly ;  she  was 
not  looking  at  him,  but  seemed  to  glance  on  every  side 
and  unquietly  ;  then  she  raised  her  eyes.  I  saw  that  she 
was  confused  ;  I  saw  that  he  was  begging  for  something. 
I  saw  finally  that  he  placed  his  palms  together  before  her, 
that  she  turned  her  head  and  eyes  toward  him  slowly, 
that  she  began  to  lean  toward  him,  but  suddenly  re- 
covered herself  and  pushed  back  toward  the  edge  of  the 
boat.  Then  he  seized  her  hand,  as  though  fearing  that  she 
might  fall  into  the  water.  I  saw  that  he  did  not  let  the 
hand  go ;  after  that  I  saw  nothing.  I  let  the  oar  drop, 
and  I  fell  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  for  a  cloud  covered 
my  eyes.  "  Save  !  save,  0  God  ! "  cried  I,  in  spirit ;  "  here 
they  are  killing  a  man ! "  I  felt  that  breath  lacked  me. 
Oh,  how  I  loved  her,  and  how  unhappy  I  was  !  Lying  on 
the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  tearing  my  clothing  with  rage, 
I  felt  all  the  helplessness  of  that  rage.  Yes ;  I  was  power- 
less, powerless  as  an  athlete  with  bound  hands,  for  what 
could  I  do  ?  I  might  kill  Selim  ;  I  might  drive  my  boat 
against  theirs  and  sink  both  in  the  water;  but  from 
Hania's  heart  I  could  not  tear  her  love  for  Selim  and 
take  it  for  myself  alone,  —  that  was  impossible. 

Ah,  that  feeling  of  powerless  rage,  that  conviction  that 
there  is  no  help,  seemed  almost  worse  at  that  moment 
than  any  other.  I  had  always  been  ashamed  to  cry 


HANIA.  109 

even  before  myself.  If  pain  pressed  tears  from  my  eyes 
by  force,  pride  kept  them  back  with  force  not  inferior. 
But  now  at  last  burst  forth  the  helpless  rage  which  was 
rending  my  breast ;  and  in  my  loneliness,  in  presence  of 
that  boat  with  the  loving  pair  reflected  in  the  water,  in 
presence  of  that  calm  sky  and  those  reeds  rustling  plain- 
tively above  my  head,  and  in  my  sadness  and  misfortune, 
I  burst  into  measureless  sobbing,  into  one  great  wave  of 
tears,  and,  lying  on  my  back  with  hands  clasped  above 
my  head,  I  almost  bellowed  with  mighty,  unspeakable 
sorrow. 

Then  I  grew  weak.  A  numbness  came  over  me.  My 
thinking  power  almost  ceased  to  act ;  I  felt  cold  at  the 
points  of  my  fingers  and  toes.  I  grew  weaker  and 
weaker.  I  used  the  remnant  of  my  thought.  It  seemed 
that  death  and  a  great  and  icy  calm  were  drawing  near. 
It  seemed  that  that  gloomy  queen  of  the  grave  was  tak- 
ing me  into  her  possession,  so  I  greeted  her  with  a  calm, 
glassy  eye.  "It  is  over,"  thought  I,  and  a  great  weight, 
as  it  were,  fell  from  my  breast. 

But  it  was  not  over.  How  long  I  lay  thus  on  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  I  could  not  tell.  Light,  downy 
clouds  were  moving  along  the  vault  of  heaven.  Lap- 
wings and  storks,  calling  sadly,  flew  by  in  succession. 
The  sun  had  risen  high  in  the  heavens  and  was  burning 
with  heat.  The  breeze  had  gone  down ;  the  motionless 
reeds  had  ceased  to  rustle.  I  woke,  as  if  from  sleep,  and 
looked  around.  The  boat  with  Hania  and  Selim  was  no 
longer  before  me.  The  silence,  repose,  and  delight  which 
reigned  in  all  nature  were  in  wonderful  contrast  to  the 
torpor  in  which  I  had  wakened  a  moment  before.  Round 
about  all  was  calm  and  smiling.  Dark  sapphire  water- 
grasshoppers  were  sitting  on  the  edges  of  the  boat  and 
on  the  leaves  of  water-lilies  which  were  as  flat  as  shields ; 


110  HANIA. 

little  gray  birds  were  swinging  on  the  reeds,  twittering 
sweetly ;  here  and  there  buzzed  an  industrious  bee  that 
had  wandered  in  over  the  water;  sometimes  from  the 
sweet  flag  wild  ducks  were  heard ;  teal  escorted  their 
young  to  the  plain  of  water.  Before  my  eyes,  the  king- 
doms and  commonwealths  of  birds  drew  aside  the  curtains 
concealing  their  daily  life ;  but  I  looked  at  nothing.  My 
torpor  had  not  passed.  The  day  was  hot ;  I  felt  an  unen- 
durable headache.  Bending  over  the  boat,  I  seized  water 
with  my  hands  and  drank  it  with  parched  lips.  That 
brought  back  some  strength  to  me.  Taking  the  oar,  I 
moved  among  reeds  toward  the  landing-place.  How  late 
it  was !  and  at  home  they  must  have  inquired  for  me. 

On  the  road  I  tried  to  calm  myself.  "  If  Selim  and 
Hania  have  confessed  that  they  love  each  other,"  thought 
I,  "  it  may  be  better  that  all  is  passed.  At  least,  the 
cursed  days  of  uncertainty  are  over."  Misfortune  had 
raised  its  visor  and  stood  before  me  with  clear  face.  I 
knew  it,  and  must  struggle  with  it.  Wonderful  thing ! 
this  thought  began  to  have  for  me  a  certain  painful 
charm.  But  still  I  was  uncertain,  and  resolved  to  exam- 
ine Evunia  adroitly,  at  least  in  as  far  as  was  possible. 

I  was  at  home  for  dinner.  I  greeted  Selim  coldly,  and 
sat  down  at  the  table  in  silence.  My  father  looked  at 
me  and  asked, — 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  thee,  —  art  sick  ? " 

"  No ;  I  am  well,  but  weary.  I  rose  at  three  in  the 
morning." 

"  What  for  ? " 

"  I  went  with  Vah  to  hunt  wolves.  I  shot  one.  Later 
on  I  lay  down  to  sleep,  and  my  head  aches  somewhat." 

"  But  look  in  the  glass,  and  see  what  a  face  thou  hast." 

Hania  stopped  eating  for  a  while,  and  looked  at  me 
carefully. 


HANIA.  ni 

"Perhaps  yesterday's  visit  to  Ustrytsi  has  acted  on 
you,  Pan  Henryk,"  said  she. 

I  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes  and  inquired  almost 
sharply,  - 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  by  that  ? " 

Hania  was  confused  and  began  to  explain  something 
indistinctly.  Selim  came  to  her  aid,  — 

"  But  that  is  very  natural.  Whoever  is  in  love  grows 
thin." 

I  looked  now  at  Hania,  now  at  Selim,  and  replied 
slowly,  putting  a  sharp  accent  on  each  syllable,  — 

"  I  do  not  see  that  ye  are  growing  thin,  either  thou  or 
Hania." 

A  scarlet  flush  covered  the  faces  of  both.  A  moment 
of  very  awkward  silence  followed.  I  myself  was  uncertain 
whether  I  had  not  gone  too  far,  but  fortunately  my 
father  had  not  heard  what  was  said.  The  priest  took  it 
as  the  usual  chaffing  of  young  people. 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  wasp  with  a  sting ! "  cried  he.  taking 
snuff.  "  He  has  given  it  to  you.  See  now,  don't  tackle 
him." 

0  Lord,  how  little  that  triumph  comforted  me,  and  how 
gladly  I  would  have  transferred  it  to  Selim ! 

After  dinner,  in  passing  through  the  drawing-room,  I 
looked  in  the  glass.  Eeally,  I  looked  like  Piotrovin.1  It 
was  blue  under  my  eyes;  my  face  was  sunk.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  I  had  grown  wonderfully  ugly,  but  that  was 
all  one  to  me  then.  I  went  to  find  Evunia.  Both  my 
little  sisters  had  dined  earlier  than  we,  and  were  in  the 
garden,  where  a  gymnasium  for  children  had  been  fixed. 
Evunia  was  sitting  carelessly  on  a  wooden  platform  hung 
by  four  cords  to  the  crossbeam  of  a  swing.  While  sitting 
there,  she  was  talking  to  herself,  shaking  the  locks  of  her 

1  A  man  raised  from  the  dead  bv  Saint  Stanislav. 


112  HANIA. 

golden  head  from  time  to  time  and  swinging  her  feet. 
When  she  saw  me  she  laughed  and  stretched  forth  her 
little  hands.  I  took  her  in  my  arms  and  went  down  the 
alley  with  her.  Then  I  sat  on  a  bench,  and,  putting 
Enunia  before  me,  asked,  — 

"  What  has  Evunia  been  doing  to-day  ? " 

"  Evunia  went  to  walk  with  her  husband  and  Hauia," 
answered  the  little  girl,  boastingly. 

Evunia  called  Selim  her  husband. 

"  And  was  Evunia  polite  ? " 

"  She  was." 

"  Ah,  that  is  well,  for  polite  children  always  listen  to 
what  older  people  say,  and  remember  that  they  have 
something  to  learn.  But  does  Evunia  remember  what 
Selim  said  to  Hania?" 

"  I  have  forgotten." 

"  Ei,  maybe  Evunia  remembers  a  little  ? " 

"  I  have  forgotten." 

"  Thou  art  not  polite !  Let  Evunia  remember  right  off, 
or  I  shall  not  love  Evunia." 

The  little  girl  began  to  rub  one  eye  with  her  fist ;  and 
with  the  other,  which  was  full  of  tears,  she  looked  at  me 
from  under  her  brow,  and  frowning,  as  if  to  cry,  her  lips 
already  quivering  and  in  the  form  of  a  horseshoe,  she 
said,  — 

"  I  have  forgotten." 

What  could  the  poor  little  thing  answer?  Indeed, 
I  seemed  to  myself  idiotic,  and  immediately  was  ashamed 
of  having  spoken  with  deceitful  tongue  to  that  innocent 
little  angel,  —  to  ask  one  thing,  wishing  to  learn  another. 
Besides  Evunia  was  the  pet  of  the  whole  house,  and  my 
pet,  so  I  did  not  wish  to  torment  her  any  further.  I 
kissed  her,  stroked  her  hair,  and  let  her  go.  The  little 
girl  ran  at  once  to  the  swing,  and  I  walked  off  as  wise  as 


HANIA.  113 

before,  but  still  with  the  conviction  in  my  heart  that  a 
confession  had  passed  between  Selim  and  Hania. 

Toward  evening  Selim  said  to  me,  — 

"  I  shall  not  see  thee  for  a  week ;  I  am  going  on  a 
journey." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  I,  with  indifference. 

"  My  father  commands  me  to  visit  his  brother  in 
Shunma.  I  must  stay  there  about  a  week." 

I  looked  at  Hania.  That  information  called  out  no 
impression  on  her  face.  Evidently  Selim  had  told  her 
of  the  visit  already. 

She  smiled,  raised  her  eyes  from  her  work,  looked  at 
Selim  somewhat  cunningly,  somewhat  perversely,  and 
asked,  — 

"  But  are  you  glad  to  go  there  ?" 

"  As  glad  as  a  mastiff  to  go  to  a  chain,"  answered  he, 
quickly;  but  he  restrained  himself  in  time,  and  seeing 
that  Pani  d'Yves.  who  could  not  endure  anything  trivial, 
was  making  a  wry  face,  he  added,  — 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  the  expression.  I  love  my  uncle ; 
but  you  see  it  is  pleasanter  here  for  me,  near  Pani  d'Yves." 
And  speaking  thus,  he  cast  a  sentimental  glance  at  Pani 
d'Yves,  which  roused  laughter  in  all,  not  excluding  Pani 
d'Yves  herself,  who,  though  she  was  easily  offended,  had 
a  special  weakness  for  Selim.  She  took  him  gently  by 
the  ear  and  said  with  a  kindly  smile,  — 

"  Young  man,  I  might  be  thy  mother." 

Selim  kissed  her  hand,  and  there  was  concord ;  but  I 
thought  to  myself,  what  a  difference  between  me  and  that 
Selim  !  If  I  had  Hania's  affection,  I  should  merely  dream 
and  look  toward  the  sky.  What  place  should  I  have  for 
jokes !  but  he  laughs,  jokes,  is  joyous  as  never  before. 
Even  when  radiant  with  happiness,  he  was  always  joyful. 
Just  before  going  he  said  to  me,  — 


114  HANI  A. 

"  Dost  know  what  I  will  say  ?     Come  with  me." 

"  I  will  not ;  I  have  not  the  least  intention." 

The  cold  tone  of  the  answer  struck  Selim  somewhat. 

"  Thou  hast  become  strange,"  said  he.  "  I  do  not  know 
thee  for  some  time  —  but  —  " 

"  Finish." 

"  But  everything  is  forgiven  those  who  are  in  love." 

"  Unless  those  who  cross  our  path,"  answered  I,  with 
the  voice  of  the  stone  Comandore. 

Selim  struck  me  with  a  glance  as  sharp  as  lightning, 
and  went  to  the  bottom  of  my  soul. 

"  What  dost  thou  say  ? " 

"  I  say  that  I  will  not  go,  and,  secondly,  that  one  does 
not  forgive  everything  ! " 

Had  it  not  been  that  all  were  present  at  this  conversa- 
tion, Selim  certainly  would  have  made  the  whole  question 
clear  at  once.  But  I  did  not  wish  to  make  it  clear  till  I 
had  more  positive  proof.  I  saw,  however,  that  my  last 
words  had  disquieted  Selim  and  alarmed  Hania.  He 
loitered  yet  awhile,  putting  off  his  departure  under  tri- 
fling pretexts,  and  then,  choosing  the  moment,  said  to  me 
in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  Take  a  horse  and  conduct  me.  I  wish  to  speak  to 
thee." 

"Another  time,"  answered  I,  aloud.  "To-day  I  feel 
somewhat  weak." 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

SELIM  went  really  to  his  uncle  and  stayed  there,  not  a 
week,  but  ten  days.     For  us  those  days  passed  in 
gloom.     Hania  seemed  to  avoid  me  and  look  on  me  with 
concealed  fear.     I  had  no  intention  indeed  to  speak  with 


HANI  A.  115 

her  sincerely  about  anything,  for  pride  tied  the  words  on 
my  lips;  and  she,  I  know  not  why,  so  arranged  affairs 
that  we  were  never  alone  for  an  instant.  At  last  she  grew 
sad,  looked  wretched  and  thin.  Noting  this  sadness,  I 
trembled  and  thought,  "  Indeed,  this  is  not  the  passing 
caprice  of  a  girl;  it  is  a  genuine,  deep  feeling,  unfortu- 
nately." 

I  was  irritable,  gloomy,  and  sad.  In  vain  did  my 
father,  the  priest,  and  Pani  d'Yves  inquire  what  the 
matter  was.  Was  I  sick  ?  I  answered  in  the  negative ; 
their  solicitude  simply  annoyed  me.  I  passed  whole 
days  alone,  on  horseback ;  sometimes  I  was  in  the  woods, 
sometimes  among  the  reeds  in  a  boat.  I  lived  like  a 
savage.  Once  I  spent  a  whole  night  in  a  forest,  with  a 
gun  and  a  dog,  before  a  fire  which  I  had  kindled  pur- 
posely. Sometimes  I  spent  half  a  day  with  our  shepherd, 
who  was  a  doctor,  and  grown  wild  through  continual 
solitude ;  he  was  eternally  collecting  herbs  and  testing 
their  properties.  This  man  initiated  me  into  a  fantastic 
world  of  spells  and  superstitions. 

But  would  any  one  believe  it,  there  were  moments 
when  I  grieved  for  Selim  and  my  "  circles  of  suffering " 
as  I  called  them. 

Once  the  idea  came  to  me  of  visiting  Mirza  Davidovich 
in  Horeli.  The  old  man  was  captivated  by  this,  that  I 
visited  him  for  his  own  sake,  and  received  me  with  open 
arms.  But  I  had  come  with  another  intent.  I  wished 
to  look  at  those  eyes  in  the  portrait  of  Sobieski's  terrible 
colonel  of  light  horse.  And  when  I  saw  those  evil  eyes 
turning  everywhere  after  a  man,  I  remembered  my  own 
ancestors,  whose  counterfeits  hung  at  home  in  the  draw- 
ing-room ;  they  were  equally  stern  and  iron-like. 

My  mind,  under  the  influence  of  such  impressions, 
came  to  a  condition  of  wonderful  exaltation.  Loneliness, 


116  HANIA. 

the  silence  of  night,  life  with  nature,  —  all  these  should 
have  acted  on  me  with  soothing  effect ;  but  within  me  I 
carried,  as  it  were,  a  poisoned  arrow.  At  times  I  gave 
myself  up  to  dreams,  which  made  that  condition  still 
worse.  More  than  once,  while  lying  in  some  remote 
corner  of  a  pine  wood,  or  in  a  boat  among  reeds,  I  imag- 
ined that  I  was  in  Hania's  apartment  at  her  feet ;  that  I 
was  kissing  her  hands,  her  feet,  her  dress;  that  I  was 
calling  her  by  the  most  fondling  names,  and  she,  placing 
her  hands  on  my  heated  forehead,  was  saying :  "  Thou 
hast  suffered  enough ;  let  us  forget  everything  !  It  was  a 
bitter  dream.  I  love  thee,  Henryk."  But  then  came  the 
awakening  and  the  dull  reality,  —  that  future  of  mine, 
gloomy  as  a  day  of  clouds,  always  without  her,  to  the  end 
of  life  without  her ;  this  future  seemed  to  me  all  the 
more  terrible.  I  grew  misanthropic,  avoided  people,  even 
my  father,  the  priest,  and  Pani  d'Yves.  Kazio,  with  his 
talkativeness  of  a  boy,  his  curiosity,  his  eternal  laughter 
and  endless  tricks,  disgusted  me  to  the  utmost. 

And  still  those  honest  people  tried  to  distract  me,  and 
suffered  in  secret  over  my  condition,  not  knowing  how  to 
explain  it.  Hania,  whether  she  divined  something  or 
not, —  for  she  had  strong  reason  to  suppose  that  I  was  in 
love  with  Lola  Ustrytski,  —  did  what  she  could  to  console 
me.  But  I  was  so  harsh  even  toward  her  that  she  could 
not  free  herself  of  a  certain  dread  when  talking  to  me. 
My  father  himself,  usually  severe  and  unsparing,  strove 
to  distract  me,  turn  my  attention  to  something,  and 
meanwhile  to  test  me.  More  than  once,  he  began  con- 
versations which,  as  he  judged,  should  be  of  interest. 
One  day  after  dinner  we  went  out  in  front  of  the 
mansion. 

"  Does  not  a  certain  thing  strike  thee  at  times  ? "  asked 
he,  looking  at  me  inquiringly ;  "  I  wanted  to  ask  thee 


HANI  A.  117 

about  it  this  good  while,  —  does  it  not  strike  thee  that 
Selim  is  circling  a  little  too  much  about  Hania?" 

Judging  the  case  simply,  I  should  have  grown  confused 
and  let  myself  be  caught,  as  they  say,  in  the  very  act. 
But  I  was  in  such  a  state  of  mind  that  I  did  not  betray 
by  one  quiver  the  impression  which  my  father's  words  made 
on  me,  and  replied  calmly,  — 

"  No ;  I  know  that  he  is  not." 

It  wounded  me  that  my  father  took  part  in  those 
questions.  I  considered  that,  since  the  affair  touched  me 
alone,  I  alone  should  decide  it. 

"  Wilt  thou  guarantee  that  ? "  asked  my  father. 

"  I  will.     Selim  is  in  love  with  a  schoolgirl  in  Warsaw." 

"  I  say  this,  for  thou  art  Hania's  guardian,  and  'tis  thy 
duty  to  watch  over  her." 

I  knew  that  my  honest  father  said  this  to  rouse  my 
ambition,  occupy  me  with  something,  and  snatch  my 
thoughts  from  that  gloomy  circle  in  which  I  seemed  to  be 
turning  ;  but  I  answered,  as  if  in  perverseness,  indifferently 
and  gloomily,  — 

"  What  sort  of  guardian  am  I  ?  Thou  wert  not  here,  so 
old  Mikolai  left  her  to  me,  but  I  am  not  the  real  guardian." 

My  father  frowned  ;  seeing,  however,  that  in  this  way 
he  could  not  bring  me  to  terms,  he  chose  another.  He 
smiled  under  his  gray  mustache,  half  closed  one  eye,  in 
the  fashion  of  a  soldier,  took  me  gently  by  the  ear,  and 
asked,  as  if  joking,  — 

"But  has  Hania,  perhaps,  turned  thine  own  head? 
Speak,  my  boy." 

"  Hania  ?     Not  in  the  least.      That  would  amuse  thee." 

I  lied  as  if  possessed  ;  but  it  passed  off  more  smoothly 
than  I  had  expected. 

"  Then  has  not  Lola  Ustrytski  ?     Hei  ?  " 

"  Lola  Ustrytski,  a  coquette  ! " 


118  HANIA. 

My  father  became  impatient. 

"  Then  what  the  devil  is  it  ?  If  thou  art  not  in  love,  go 
as  a  soldier  to  the  first  muster." 

"  Do  I  know  what  the  matter  is  ?  Nothing  is  the  mat- 
ter with  me." 

But  I  was  tormented  and  made  more  impatient  by  ques- 
tions which  in  their  anxiety  neither  my  father  nor  the  priest 
spared,  nor  even  Pani  d' Yves.  At  last  relations  with  them 
became  disagreeable.  I  was  carried  away  by  everything 
and  enraged  at  every  trifle.  Father  Ludvik  saw  in  this 
certain  traits  of  a  despotic  character  coming  to  the  surface 
with  age,  and  looking  at  my  father  significantly  he  laughed 
and  said,  — 

"  Topknot  chickens  by  blood  !  " 

But  even  he  lost  patience  sometimes.  Between  my 
father  and  me  there  were  frequently  very  disagreeable 
passages.  Once  at  dinner  during  a  dispute  about  nobil- 
ity and  democracy  I  so  forgot  myself  as  to  declare  that  I 
should  prefer  a  hundred  times  not  to  be  born  a  noble. 
My  father  ordered  me  to  leave  the  room.  The  women 
fell  to  crying  because  of  this,  and  the  whole  house  was 
embittered  for  two  days. 

As  to  me,  I  was  neither  an  aristocrat  nor  a  democrat ;  I 
was  simply  in  love  and  unhappy.  There  was  no  place  in 
me  whatever  for  principles,  theories,  or  social  convictions ; 
and  if  I  fought  in  the  name  of  some  against  others,  I  did 
so  only  through  vexation,  to  annoy  it  is  unknown  whom  or 
why,  just  as  I  began  religious  disputes  with  Father  Ludvik 
to  annoy  him.  These  disputes  ended  with  slamming  of 
doors.  In  short,  I  poisoned  not  the  existence  of  myself  only, 
but  that  of  the  whole  house  ;  and  when  after  ten  days  Selim 
returned,  a  stone,  as  it  were,  fell  from  every  one's  breast. 
When  he  came  I  was  not  at  home,  for  I  was  racing 
about  through  the  neighborhood  on  horseback.  I  returned 


HAXIA.  119 

only  toward  evening  and  went  straight  to  the  farm  build- 
ings, where  a  stable-boy  said,  while  taking  my  horse, — 

"  The  Panich  has  come  from  Horell" 

At  that  moment  Kazio  came  up  and  repeated  the  same 
news. 

"  I  know  that  already,"  answered  I,  harshly.  "  Where 
is  Selim  now  ? " 

"  In  the  garden  with  Hania,  I  think.  I  will  go  and  look 
for  him." 

We  both  went  to  the  garden,  but  Kazio  ran  ahead.  I, 
not  hurrying  purposely  with  the  greeting,  had  not  gone 
fifty  steps  when,  at  the  bend  of  the  alley,  I  saw  Kazio 
hastening  back. 

Kazio,  who  was  a  great  rogue  and  a  joker,  began  from  afar 
to  make  gestures  and  grimaces  like  a  monkey.  His  face 
was  red;  he  held  his  finger  to  his  mouth  and  laughed, 
stifling  laughter  at  the  same  time.  When  he  came  up  to 
me  he  called  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  Henryk  !     He  !  he  !  he  !     Tsss  !  " 

"  What  art  thou  doing  ? "  asked  I,  in  ill-humor. 

"  Tss  !  as  I  love  mamma !  he !  he  !  Selim  is  kneeling 
before  Hania  in  the  hop  arbor.  As  I  love  mamma  1 " 

I  caught  him  immediately  by  the  arms  and  drove  my 
fingers  into  them. 

"  Be  silent !  Stay  here !  Not  a  word  to  anybody, 
dost  understand  ?  Stay  here  !  I  will  go  myself ;  but  be 
silent,  not  a  word  before  any  one,  if  thy  life  is  dear  to 
thee." 

Kazio,  who  from  the  beginning  had  considered  the  whole 
affair  on  the  humorous  side,  seeing  the  corpse-like  pallor 
that  covered  my  face,  was  evidently  frightened,  and  stood 
on  the  spot  with  open  mouth  ;  but  I  ran  on,  as  if  mad, 
toward  the  arbor. 

Crawling  forward  quickly  and  silently  as  a  serpent,  be- 


120  HANIA. 

tween  the  barberry  bushes  which  surrounded  the  arbor,  I 
worked  myself  up  to  the  very  wall ;  the  wall  was  made  of 
small  short  bits  of  sticks,  so  I  could  hear  and  see  every- 
thing. The  repulsive  role  of  a  listener  did  not  seem  repul- 
sive at  all  to  me.  I  pushed  aside  the  leaves  very  delicately 
and  thrust  forward  my  ear. 

"  There  is  some  one  near  by  1 "  said  the  low,  suppressed 
whisper  of  Hania. 

"  No ;  only  leaves  moving  on  the  branches,"  answered 
Selim. 

I  looked  at  them  through  the  green  veil  of  the  leaves. 
Selim  was  not  kneeling  near  Hania  now ;  he  was  sitting  at 
her  side  on  a  low  bench.  She  was  as  pale  as  linen ;  her 
eyes  were  closed,  her  head  inclined  and  resting  on  his 
shoulder.  He  had  encircled  her  waist  with  his  arm,  and 
drawn  her  toward  him  with  love  and  delight. 

"  I  love,  Hania  !  I  love  !  I  love  ! "  repeated  he,  whisper- 
ing passionately  ;  aild  inclining  his  head  he  sought  her  lips 
with  his.  She  drew  back,  as  if  warding  off  the  kiss,  but 
still  their  lips  met  and  remained  joined  in  that  manner 
long,  long  ;  it  seemed  to  me  whole  ages. 

And  then  I  thought  that  all  which  they  had  wished  to 
say  to  each  other  they  said  in  that  kiss.  Some  sort  of 
shame  stopped  their  words.  They  had  daring  enough  for 
kisses,  but  not  enough  for  speech.  A  deathlike  silence 
reigned,  and  amid  that  silence  there  came  to  me  merely 
their  quick  and  passionate  breathing. 

I  seized  the  wooden  grating  of  the  arbor  with  my  hands, 
and  feared  lest  I  might  crush  it  into  bits  with  that  con- 
vulsive pressure.  It  grew  dark  in  my  eyes ;  I  felt  a  turn- 
ing of  the  head ;  the  earth  flew  somewhere  from  under  me 
into  a  bottomless  pit.  But  even  at  the  price  of  my  life  I 
wished  to  hear  what  they  were  saying ;  hence  I  mastered 
myself  again,  and  catching  the  air  with  parched  lips,  with 


HANIA.  121 

forehead  pressed  to  the  grating,  I  listened,  counting  every 
breath  which  they  drew. 

Silence  continued  some  time  yet.  At  last  Hania  began 
in  a  whisper,  — 

"  Enough,  enough !  I  dare  not  look  you  in  the  eyes. 
Let  us  leave  this." 

And  turning  her  head  aside,  she  tried  to  tear  herself 
out  of  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  Hania !  what  is  taking  place  in  me  ?  I  am  so 
happy ! "  cried  Selim. 

"  Let  us  go  from  here.     Some  one  will  come." 

Selim  sprang  up  with  gleaming  eyes  and  distended 
nostrils. 

"  Let  the  whole  world  come,"  said  he.  "  I  love,  and  I 
will  say  so  in  the  eyes  of  all  people.  I  know  not  how 
this  happened.  I  struggled  with  myself ;  I  suffered,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  that  Henryk  loved  thee,  and  thou  him. 
But  now  I  care  for  nothing.  Thou  lovest  me,  and  so  it 
is  a  question  of  thy  happiness.  Oh,  Hania!  Hania  !  " 

And  here  again  was  the  sound  of  a  kiss;  and  then 
Hania  began  to  speak  in  a  soft  and,  as  it  were,  weakened 
voice,  — 

"  I  believe,  I  believe,  Selim ;  but  I  have  many  things  to 
tell  thee.  They  want  to  send  me  abroad  to  the  old 
lady,  I  think.  Yesterday  Pani  d'Yves  spoke  of  this  to 
Henryk's  father.  Pani  d'Yves  thinks  that  I  am  the 
cause  of  Pan  Henryk's  strange  conduct.  She  thinks  that 
he  is  in  love  with  me.  I  myself  do  not  know  but  that  is 
the  case.  There  are  times  when  it  seems  to  me  that  he 
is.  I  do  not  understand  him.  I  fear  him.  I  feel  that 
he  will  hinder  us,  that  he  will  separate  us  ;  but  I  —  " 

And  she  finished  in  a  barely  audible  voice,  — 

"  I  love,  much,  much." 

"  Listen,  Hania.     No  earthly  power  shall  separate  us. 


122  HANIA. 

Should  Henryk  forbid  me  to  come  here,  I  shall  write  to 
thee.  I  have  some  one  who  will  always  bring  a  letter. 
I  shall  come  myself  too.  By  the  side  of  the  pond  after 
dark.  Go  always  to  the  garden.  But  thou  wilt  not  go 
abroad.  If  they  wish  to  send  thee,  I  will  not  permit  it, 
as  God  is  in  heaven.  Do  not  say  such  things,  Hania,  or 
I  shall  go  mad.  Oh,  my  beloved,  my  beloved ! " 

Seizing  her  hands,  he  pressed  them  passionately  to  his 
lips.  She  sprang  up  quickly  from  the  bench. 

"  I  hear  voices :  they  are  coming,"  cried  she,  with  fear. 

Both  went  out,  though  no  one  was  coming  and  no  one 
came.  The  evening  rays  of  the  sun  cast  gleams  of  gold 
on  them,  but  to  me  those  gleams  seemed  as  red  as  blood. 
I  too  dragged  on  slowly  toward  the  house.  Just  at  the 
turning  of  the  alley  I  met  Kazio,  who  was  on  the  watch. 

"  They  have  gone.  I  saw  them,"  whispered  he.  "  Tell 
me  what  I  am  to  do  ?  " 

"  Shoot  him  in  the  head ! "  cried  I,  with  an  outburst. 

Kazio  flushed  like  a  rose,  and  his  eyes  gave  out  phos- 
phoric light. 

"  Very  good  !  "  said  he. 

"  Stop !  Don't  be  a  fool !  Do  nothing.  Meddle  in 
nothing,  and  on  thy  honor,  Kazio,  be  silent.  Leave  every- 
thing to  me.  When  thou  art  needed,  I  will  tell  thee ;  but 
not  a  word  before  any  one." 

"I  '11  not  even  squeak  though  they  kill  me." 

We  went  on  awhije  in  silence.  Kazio,  penetrated 
with  the  importance  of  the  question  and  sniffing  some 
kind  of  terrible  event,  toward  which  his  heart  was  rush- 
ing, looked  at  me  with  sparkling  eyes ;  then  he  said,  — 

"  Henryk  ? " 

"What?" 

We  both  whispered,  though  no  one  was  listening. 

"  Wilt  thou  fight  with  Selim  ? " 


HANIA.  123 

"  I  know  not.     Perhaps." 

Kazio  stopped  and  suddenly  threw  his  arms  around  my 
neck. 

"  Henryk  !  my  golden  brother  !  My  heart !  My  only 
one !  if  thou  wish  to  fight,  let  me  do  it.  I  will  manage 
him.  Let  me  try.  Let  me,  Henryk ;  let  me !  " 

Kazio  was  simply  dreaming  of  deeds  of  knighthood, 
but  I  felt  the  brother  in  him  as  never  before ;  therefore  I 
gathered  him  to  my  breast  with  all  my  strength  and 
said,  — 

"  No,  Kazio !  I  know  nothing  yet,  and,  besides,  he 
would  not  accept  thee.  I  know  nothing  yet  of  what 
will  happen.  Meanwhile  give  directions  to  saddle  the 
horse  in  good  season.  I  will  go  in  advance,  meet  him  on 
the  road,  and  speak  to  him.  Meanwhile  watch  both ;  but 
don't  let  them  suspect  that  thou  knowest  anything. 
Have  the  horse  saddled." 

"  Wilt  thou  take  arms  ? " 

"  Phe  !  Kazio ;  he  has  none.  No ;  I  only  wish  to  speak 
with  him.  Be  calm,  and  go  at  once  to  the  stable." 

Kazio  sprang  away  that  moment  according  to  my  re- 
quest. T  returned  slowly  to  the  house.  I  was  like  a  man 
struck  on  the  head  with  the  back  of  an  axe.  I  have  the 
right  to  say  that  I  knew  not  what  to  do;  I  knew  not 
how  to  act.  I  simply  wished  to  shout. 

Until  I  was  perfectly  certain  that  I  had  lost  Hania's 
heart,  I  was  anxious  to  be  certain.  I  judged  that  in  every 
case  a  stone  would  then  fall  from  my  heart:  now  mis- 
fortune had  raised  its  visor.  I  was  looking  at  its  cold, 
icy  face  and  stony  eyes ;  but  a  new  uncertainty  was  born 
in  my  heart,  —  not  uncertainty  as  to  my  misfortune,  but 
one  a  hundred  times  worse,  the  feeling  of  my  own  help- 
lessness, the  uncertainty  as  to  how  I  was  to  struggle  with 
that  feeling. 


124  HANIA. 

My  heart  was  filled  with  gall,  bitterness,  and  rage. 
Voices  of  self-denial,  voices  of  devotion,  which  at  other 
times  often  spoke  in  my  soul,  saying,  "  Eenounce  Hania 
for  the  sake  of  her  happiness ;  it  is  thy  duty  to  think  of 
that  first  of  all ;  sacrifice  thyself  ! "  Those  voices  were 
perfectly  dumb  now.  The  angel  of  silent  sadness,  the 
angel  of  devotion  and  tears,  had  flown  far  away  from  me. 
I  felt  like  a  worm  which  had  been  trampled,  but  of 
which  people  had  forgotten  that  it  possessed  a  sting.  I 
had  let  myself  so  far  be  hunted  by  misfortune  as  a  wolf 
by  a  dog;  but,  too  much  despised  and  pressed  upon,  I  had 
begun  like  a  wolf  to  show  my  teeth.  A  new  active 
power  named  revenge  rose  in  my  heart.  I  began  to  feel 
a  species  of  hatred  for  Selim  and  Hania.  "  I  will  lose 
life,"  thought  I ;  "  I  will  lose  everything  that  may  be  lost 
in  this  world ;  but  I  will  not  permit  those  two  to  be 
happy."  Penetrated  by  this  thought,  I  grasped  it  as  a 
sentenced  man  grasps  a  crucifix.  I  had  found  a  reason 
for  life;  the  horizon  became  bright  before  me.  I  drew 
in  a  full  breath,  broadly  and  freely,  as  never  before. 
My  thoughts,  which  had  been  scattered  and  stormed 
away,  arranged  themselves  in  order  and  were  turned  with 
all  force  in  one  direction  ominous  for  Selim  and  Hania. 
When  I  reached  the  house,  I  was  almost  calm,  and  cool. 
In  the  hall  were  sitting  Pani  d'Yves,  Father  Ludvik, 
Hania,  Selim,  and  Kazio,  who  had  just  returned  from  the 
stable  and  did  not  move  one  step  from  the  two. 

"  Is  there  a  horse  for  me  ? "  asked  I  of  Kazio. 

"  Yes." 

"  Wilt  thou  go  a  part  of  the  way  with  me  ? "  put  in 
Selim. 

"  Yes ;  I  can.     I  will  go  to  the  stacks  to  see  if  any 
damage  is  done.     Kazio,  let  me  have  thy  place. " 

Kazio  yielded  the  place,  and  I  sat  down  near  Selim  and 


HANIA.  125 

Hania,  on  a  sofa  under  the  window.  Involuntarily  I 
remembered  how  we  had  sat  there  immediately  after 
Mikolai's  death,  when  Selim  told  the  Crimean  tale  about 
Sultan  Harun  and  the  soothsaying  Lala.  But  at  that 
time  Hania,  still  small  and  with  eyes  red  from  weeping, 
had  rested  her  golden  head  on  my  breast  and  fallen 
asleep  ;  now  that  same  Hania,  taking  advantage  of  the 
darkness  descending  into  the  room,  was  pressing  Selim's 
hand  secretly.  In  that  time  the  sweet  feeling  of  friend- 
ship had  joined  us  all  three ;  now  love  and  hatred  were 
soon  to  enter  into  combat.  But  all  was  calm  apparently  : 
the  lovers  were  smiling  at  each  other ;  I  was  more  glad- 
some than  usual.  No  one  suspected  what  kind  of  glad- 
someness  that  was. 

Soon  Pani  d'Yves  begged  Selim  to  play  something.  He 
rose,  sat  at  the  piano,  and  began  to  play  Chopin's  mazurka. 
I  remained  alone  for  a  time  on  the  sofa  with  Hania.  I 
noticed  that  she  was  gazing  at  Selim  as  at  a  rainbow,  that 
she  was  flying  away  into  the  region  of  fancies  on  the  wings 
of  music,  and  I  determined  to  bring  her  back  to  the  earth. 

"  How  many  gifts  that  Selim  has,  has  he  not,  Hania  ? 
He  plays  and  sings." 

"  Oh,  it  is  true  !"  said  she. 

"  And,  besides,  what  a  beautiful  face  !  Just  look  at 
him  now." 

Hania  followed  the  direction  of  my  eyes.  Selim  was 
sitting  in  the  shade  ;  but  his  head  was  illuminated  by  the 
last  light  of  the  evening,  and  in  those  gleams  he  seemed 
inspired,  with  his  uplifted  eyes,  —  and  he  was  at  that 
moment  inspired. 

"  How  beautiful  he  is,  Hania,  is  he  not  ? "  repeated  I. 

"  Are  you  very  fond  of  him?" 

"He  cares  nothing  for  my  feelings,  but  women  love 
him.  Ah,  how  that  Yozia  loved  him  ! " 


126  HANIA. 

Alarm  was  depicted  on  Mania's  smooth  forehead. 

"  And  he  ?  "  inquired  she. 

"  Ei !  he  loves  one  to-day,  another  to-morrow.  He 
can  never  love  any  one  long.  Such  is  his  nature.  If  he 
should  ever  say  that  he  loves  thee  do  not  believe  him  " 
(here  I  began  to  speak  with  emphasis) ;  "  for  him  it  will  be 
a  question  of  thy  kiss,  not  thy  heart,  dost  understand  ? " 

"  Pan  Henryk  ! " 

"  True !  but  what  do  I  say  ?  This  does  not  concern 
thee.  And,  moreover,  thou  art  so  modest,  wouldst  thou 
give  thy  kiss  to  a  stranger,  Hania  ?  I  beg  pardon,  for 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  offended  thee  even  with  the 
supposition.  Thou  wouldst  never  permit  that,  wouldst 
thou,  Hania,  never  ?  " 

Hania  sprang  up  to  go  away,  but  I  seized  her  by  the 
hand  and  detained  her  by  force.  I  tried  to  be  calm,  but 
rage  was  throttling  me,  as  if  with  pincers.  I  felt  that  I 
was  losing  self-control. 

"  Answer,"  said  I,  with  repressed  excitement,  "  or  I 
shall  not  let  thee  go." 

"  Pan  Henryk  !  what  do  you  want  ?  What  do  you  say  ? " 

"  I  say  —  I  say,  "  whispered  I,  with  set  teeth,  "  that  thou 
hast  no  shame  in  thy  eyes.  Hei  ? " 

Hania  sat  down  again  on  the  sofa,  helpless.  I  looked 
at  her ;  she  was  pale  as  linen.  But  pity  for  the  poor  girl 
had  fled  from  me.  I  grasped  her  hand,  and  squeezing  its 
small  fingers,  continued,  — 

"  Hear  me  !  I  was  at  thy  feet.  I  loved  thee  more  than 
the  whole  world  — ' 

"  Pan  Henryk ! " 

"  Be  silent.  I  saw  and  heard  everything.  Thou  art 
shameless,  —  thou  and  he." 

"  My  God  !  my  God  ! " 

"  Thou  art  shameless.     I  would  not  have  dared  to  kiss 


HANIA.  127 

the  hem  of  thy  garment,  and  he  kissed  thee  on  the  lips. 
Thou  thyself  didst  draw  him  to  thy  kisses.  Hania,  I 
despise  thee  !  I  hate  thee  !  I  hate  thee  ! " 

The  voice  died  in  my  breast.  I  began  to  breathe 
quickly  and  catch  for  air,  which  was  lacking  in  my 
breast. 

"  Thou  hast  felt,"  said  I.  after  a  while,  "  that  I  will 
separate  you.  If  I  had  to  lose  my  life,  I  will  separate 
you,  even  if  I  had  to  kill  him,  thee,  and  myself.  What 
I  said  a  moment  ago  is  not  true.  He  loves  thee,  he 
would  not  leave  thee ;  but  I  will  separate  you." 

"  Of  what  are  you  talking  with  so  much  earnestness  ? " 
asked  Pani  d'Yves,  who  was  sitting  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room. 

There  was  a  moment  when  I  wanted  to  spring  up  and 
tell  everything ;  but  I  remembered  myself,  and  said  in  an 
apparently  calm  though  somewhat  broken  voice,  — 

"  We  were  disputing  as  to  which  arbor  in  the  garden  is 
the  more  beautiful,  the  rose  or  the  hop  arbor." 

Selim  stopped  playing  suddenly,  and  looked  at  us  with 
attention,  then  he  said  with  the  greatest  calmness,  — 

"  I  would  give  all  others  for  the  hop  arbor." 

"  Thy  taste  is  not  bad,"  answered  I.  "  Hania  is  of  the 
opposite  opinion." 

"  Is  that  true,  Panna  Hania  ? "  asked  he. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice. 

Again  I  felt  that  I  could  not  hold  out  longer  in  that 
conversation.  Eed  circles  began  to  flash  before  my  eyes. 
I  sprang  up,  and  running  through  several  chambers  to 
the  dining-room,  seized  a  decanter  of  water  standing  on 
the  table,  and  poured  the  water  on  my  head.  Then,  with- 
out knowing  what  I  did,  I  dashed  the  decanter  to  the 
iloor,  where  it  broke  into  a  thousand  bits,  and  ran  to 
the  entrance. 


128  HANIA. 

My  horse  and  Selim's  were  standing  before  the  porch, 
saddled.  I  ran  to  my  room  for  a  moment  to  wipe  the 
water  from  my  face  in  some  fashion  ;  that  done,  I  returned 
to  the  hall.  In  the  hall  I  found  the  priest  and  Selim  in 
the  greatest  terror. 

"  What  has  happened  ? "  asked  I. 

"  Hania  has  grown  weak  and  fainted." 

"  What  ?  how  ? "  cried  I,  grasping  the  priest  by  the 
arm. 

"  Immediately  after  thy  going  she  burst  into  loud  weep- 
ing, and  fainted.  Pani  d'Yves  has  taken  her  to  her 
room." 

I  flew  to  Pani  d'Yves'  chamber  without  saying  a  word. 
Hania  had  really  burst  into  loud  weeping  and  fainted, 
but  the  paroxysm  had  passed.  When  I  saw  her  I  forgot 
everything,  fell  on  my  knees  before  her  bed  like  a  mad- 
man, and,  without  noticing  the  presence  of  Pani  d'Yves, 
cried,  — 

"  Hania,  my  golden,  my  love  !  what  is  the  matter  with 
thee?" 

"  Nothing,  nothing  now,"  answered  she,  in  a  weak  voice, 
and  she  tried  to  smile.  "  Nothing  now.  Really  nothing." 

I  sat  a  quarter  of  an  hour  with  her,  then  I  kissed  her 
hand  and  returned  to  the  hall.  It  was  not  true  that  I 
hated  her ;  I  loved  her  as  never  before.  But  to  make  up 
for  that,  when  I  saw  Selim  in  the  hall  I  wanted  to  choke 
him.  Oh,  him,  him,  I  hated  at  that  moment  from  the 
bottom  of  my  soul.  He  and  the  priest  ran  up  to  me 
together. 

"  Well,  how  is  it  there  ?  " 

"All  is  well."  And  turning  to  Selim  I  said  in  his  ear, 
"  Go  home.  To-morrow  we  will  meet  at  the  Pits  near  the 
edge  of  the  forest.  I  want  to  speak  to  thee.  I  do  not  wish 
thee  to  come  here.  Our  relations  must  cease." 


HANIA.  129 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  face.     "  What  does  this  mean  ? " 

"  I  will  tell  thee  to-morrow.  I  do  not  wish  to  do  so  to- 
day. Dost  understand  ?  1  do  not  wish.  To-morrow 
morning  at  six." 

When  I  had  said  this  I  went  back  to  Pani  d'  Yves' 
chamber.  Selim  ran  some  steps  after  me,  but  stopped  at 
the  door.  A  few  minutes  later  I  looked  through  the 
window  and  saw  him  ride  away. 

I  sat  about  an  hour  in  the  chamber  adjoining  that  one 
where  Hania  was  resting.  I  could  not  go  in,  for,  weak- 
ened by  crying,  she  had  fallen  asleep.  Pani  d'Yves  and 
the  priest  went  to  hold  some  consultation  with  my  father. 
I  sat  alone  till  the  hour  for  tea. 

During  tea  I  saw  that  my  father,  the  priest,  and  Pani 
d'Yves  had  faces  half  mysterious,  half  severe.  I  confess 
that  a  kind  of  disquiet  seized  me.  Could  they  have  divined 
something  ?  That  was  probable ;  for  in  every  case  be- 
tween us  young  people  things  had  happened  that  day 
which  were  quite  unnatural. 

"  To-day,"  said  my  father,  "  I  have  received  a  letter  from 
thy  mother." 

"  How  is  mother's  health  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  good.  But  she  is  troubled  about  what  is 
happening  here.  She  wants  to  return  soon,  but  I  will  not 
permit  her ;  she  must  stay  two  months  longer." 

"  What  is  mother  alarmed  about  ? " 

"  It  is  known  to  thee  that  small-pox  is  in  the  village ;  I 
was  so  incautious  as  to  inform  her." 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  did  not  know  that  small-pox  was 
prevalent.  It  may  be  that  I  had  heard  of  it,  but  of  course 
the  information  had  dropped  from  my  ears,  as  from  a 
wall. 

"  Will  father  go  to  her  ? "  I  asked. 

"  I  shall  see.     We  will  talk  of  that." 

9 


130  HANI  A. 

"  It  is  now  nearly  a  year  that  the  dear  woman  has  been 
abroad,"  said  the  priest. 

"  Her  health  requires  it.  She  will  be  able  to  spend  the 
coming  winter  at  home.  She  writes  that  she  feels  much 
better,  but  is  yearning  for  us,  and  is  disquieted,"  said  my 
father.  Then,  turning  to  me,  he  added,  "  Come  to  my  room 
after  tea.  I  wish  to  speak  with  thee." 

"  I  will,  father." 

I  rose  and  with  all  the  others  went  to  Hania.  She  was 
perfectly  well  now ;  she  wished  even  to  rise,  but  my 
father  would  not  give  permission.  About  ten  in  the 
evening  a  brichka  rattled  up  before  the  porch,  and  in  it 
Doctor  Stanislav,  who  had  been  in  peasant  cottages  since 
midday.  After  he  had  examined  Hania  carefully,  he  de- 
clared that  she  was  not  sick  in  the  least,  but  needed 
rest  and  recreation.  He  forbade  study  and  prescribed 
amusement  and  cheerfulness. 

My  father  asked  his  advice  about  taking  my  little 
sisters  away  till  the  epidemic  should  pass.  The  doctor 
set  him  at  rest  by  saying  that  there  was  no  danger,  and 
wrote  himself  to  my  mother  to  be  at  rest.  Then  he  went 
to  bed,  for  he  was  ready  to  drop  from  fatigue.  I  lighted 
him  to  the  other  building,  where  he  was  to  pass  the  night 
with  me.  I  was  about  to  lie  down,  for  I  was  wearied 
beyond  description  by  the  impressions  of  the  day,  when 
Franek  entered  and  said,  — 

"  The  old  lord  begs  the  Panich  to  come." 

I  went  at  once.  My  father  was  sitting  in  his  room 
near  a  desk  on  which  was  the  letter  from  my  mother- 
Father  Ludvik  and  Pani  d'Yves  were  present  also.  My 
heart  fluttered  like  that  of  an  accused  who  has  to  appear 
before  a  judgment  seat.  I  felt  almost  certain  that  they 
wished  to  ask  me  about  Hania.  In  fact,  my  father  began 
to  speak  touching  things  of  great  importance.  To  set  my 


HANIA.  131 

mother  at  rest,  he  had  determined  to  send  my  little  sisters 
with  Pani  d'Yves  to  his  brother  at  Kopchan.  In  that 
case  Hauia  would  be  alone  with  us.  This  my  father  did 
not  wish.  He  knew,  he  said,  that  among  us  young  people 
things  were  happening  which  he  did  not  wish  to  investi- 
gate, but  for  which  he  had  no  word  of  praise ;  he  hoped, 
however,  that  the  departure  of  Hania  would  put  an  end  to 
them. 

Here  all  looked  at  me  inquiringly,  but  they  were  not  a 
little  astonished  when,  instead  of  opposing  Hania's  de- 
parture desperately,  I  approved  of  it  gladly.  I  had  calcu- 
lated simply  in  this  way,  that  the  departure  would  be 
equivalent  to  breaking  all  relations  with  Selim.  And,  be- 
sides, a  certain  hope,  like  a  will  o'  the  wisp,  gleamed  in 
my  heart,  that  it  was  I,  and  no  one  else,  who  would  take 
Hania  to  my  mother.  I  knew  that  my  father  could  not 
leave  home,  since  the  harvest  was  at  hand.  I  knew  that 
Father  Ludvik  had  never  been  abroad  ;  so  I  only  remained. 
But  this  was  a  faint  hope,  and  soon  it  was  quenched  like  a 
will  o'  the  wisp,  when  my  father  said  that  Pani  Ustrytski 
would  go  abroad  for  sea  baths  in  a  couple  of  days,  and 
that  she  had  consented  to  take  Hania  and  accompany  her 
to  my  mother.  The  day  following  the  morrow,  Hania  was 
to  set  out  in  the  evening.  This  saddened  me  no  little, 
but  I  preferred  that  she  should  go  without  me  rather  than 
stay.  Besides,  I  confess  that  immense  delight  rose  in 
my  mind  when  I  said  to  myself,  "  How  will  Selim  receive 
this,  and  what  will  he  do.  when  I  tell  him  about  it  to- 
morrow ? " 


132  HANI  A. 


CHAPTER   X. 

AT  six  on  the  following  morning  I  was  at  the  Pits, 
where  Selim  was  waiting  for  me.  While  riding 
thither,  I  made  a  solemn  promise  to  be  calm. 

"  What  didst  thou  wish  to  say  ? "  inquired  Selim. 

"  I  wished  to  say  to  thee  that  I  know  all.  Thou  lovest 
Hania,  and  she  thee.  Selim,  thou  hast  acted  dishonorably 
in  ensnaring  Hania's  heart.  I  wish  to  tell  thee  this,  first 
of  all." 

Selim  grew  pale,  but  every  element  in  him  was  roused. 
He  rode  up  to  me  so  closely  that  our  horses  almost  pushed 
each  other,  and  asked, — 

"  Why  ?  why  ?     Reckon  with  thy  words." 

"  First,  because  as  thou  art  a  Mussulman,  and  she  is  a 
Christian,  thou  canst  not  marry  her." 

"  I  will  change  my  religion." 

"  Thy  father  will  not  permit  that." 

"Oh,  he  will  permit  it." 

"  In  every  case,  there  are  obstacles  besides  that.  Even 
shouldst  thou  change  thy  religion,  neither  I  nor  my  father 
will  give  thee  Hania,  never  and  never  !  Dost  under- 
stand ? " 

Selim  bent  toward  me  from  his  saddle,  and  answered, 
putting  emphasis  on  every  word,  — 

"  I  shall  not  ask  thee  !     Dost  understand  in  thy  turn  ? " 

I  was  still  calm,  for  I  kept  the  news  of  Hania's  depart- 
ure till  the  last. 

"Not  only  will  she  not  be  thine,"  answered  I,  with 
coolness,  and  with  equal  emphasis,  "  but  thou  wilt  not  see 
her  again.  I  know  that  thou  hast  in  mind  to  send 
letters.  I  declare  that  I  will  watch,  and  for  the  first  one 


HANIA.  133 

I  will  have  thy  messenger  flogged  with  rods.  Thou  wilt 
not  come  any  more  to  us.  I  forbid  thee." 

"Let  us  see,"  replied  he,  panting  with  rage.  "Permit 
me  to  speak  in  my  turn.  I  have  not  acted  dishonorably, 
but  thou  hast.  Now  I  see  clearly.  I  asked  thee  if  thou 
wert  in  love  with  her  ;  thy  answer  was,  '  No  ! '  I  wanted 
to  withdraw  while  there  was  time ;  thou  didst  reject  the 
sacrifice.  Who  is  to  blame  ?  Thou  didst  say  falsely 
that  thou  wert  not  in  love  with  her.  Through  vanity, 
through  egotistical  pride,  thou  wert  ashamed  to  confess 
thy  love.  Thou  didst  love  in  darkness,  I  in  light.  Thou 
didst  love  secretly,  I  openly.  Thou  didst  poison  her  life ; 
I  tried  to  make  it  happy.  Who  is  to  blame  ?  I  would 
have  withdrawn ;  God  knows  I  would.  But  to-day  it  is 
too  late.  To-day  she  loves  me ;  and  listen  to  what  I  say : 
Ye  may  forbid  me  your  house,  ye  may  intercept  my 
letters  ;  but  I  swear  that  I  will  not  yield  up  Hania,  that  I 
will  not  forget  her,  that  I  will  love  her  always  and  seek 
her  everywhere.  I  act  directly  and  honorably ;  but  I 
love.  I  love  above  all  things  on  earth  ;  my  whole  life  is  in 
my  love  ;  I  should  die  without  it.  I  do  not  wish  to  bring 
unhappiness  into  thy  house  ;  but  remember  that  there  is 
in  me  now  something  of  such  kind  that  I  myself  fear  it. 
I  am  ready  for  anything.  Oh,  if  ye  work  any  wrong  on 
Hania  — 

He  said  all  this  hastily ;  then  he  was  pale  and  set  his 
teeth.  A  mighty  love  had  possessed  that  fiery  Eastern 
nature,  and  it  radiated  from  him  like  heat  from  a  flame ; 
but  I  paid  no  heed  to  that,  and  answered  with  icy  and 
cold  decision,— 

"  I  have  not  come  here  to  listen  to  thy  confessions.  I 
jeer  at  thy  threats,  and  I  again  repeat :  Hania  will  never 
be  thine." 

"  Listen  once  more,"  said  Selim  :  "  I  will  not  try  to  tell 


134  HANIA. 

the  greatness  of  my  love  for  Hania,  because  I  could  not 
express  it,  and  thou  couldst  not  understand  it.  But  I 
swear  to  thee  that,  in  spite  of  all  my  love,  if  she  loved 
thee  now,  I  should  still  find  in  my  soul  noble  feelings 
enough  to  renounce  her  forever.  Henryk,  why  should 
we  be  rivals  for  Hania  ?  Thou  hast  always  been  noble. 
Listen,  then :  give  her  up,  and  afterward  ask  even  my 
life  of  me.  Here  is  my  hand,  Henryk !  The  question  is 
of  Hania,  —  Hania,  remember." 

And  he  bent  toward  me  with  open  arms,  but  I  reined 
back  my  horse. 

"  Leave  the  care  of  Hania  to  me  and  my  father.  We 
have  already  taken  thought  for  her.  I  have  the  honor 
to  inform  you  that  the  day  after  to-morrow  Hania  will  go 
abroad,  and  that  thou  wilt  never  see  her  hereafter.  Now 
farewell." 

"  Ah  !  in  that  case  we  shall  meet  again." 

"We  shall!" 

I  turned  my  horse  and  rode  home  without  looking 
back. 

It  was  gloomy  in  our  house  during  those  two  days  be- 
fore Hania's  departure.  Pani  d'Yves  and  my  little  sisters 
went  away  the  day  following  the  conversation  with  my 
father.  There  remained  only  my  father,  Kazio,  I,  the 
priest,  and  Hania.  The  poor  girl  knew  now  that  she 
must  go,  and  this  news  she  received  with  despair.  Evi- 
dently she  thought  to  seek  salvation  and  the  last  plank 
of  safety  in  me ;  but  I,  divining  this,  strove  not  to  be 
alone  with  her  one  moment.  I  knew  myself  sufficiently  ; 
and  I  knew  that  with  tears  she  could  do  whatever  she 
liked  with  me,  and  that  I  could  not  refuse  her  anything. 
I  avoided  even  her  glance,  for  I  could  not  endure  that 
prayer,  as  it  were,  for  compassion  which  was  depicted  in 
it  whenever  she  looked  at  my  father  or  me. 


HANIA.  135 

On  the  other  hand,  even  though  I  wished  to  intercede 
for  her,  I  knew  that  it  would  be  of  no  avail,  for  my  father 
never  changed  a  thing  that  he  had  once  settled,  and  withal 
a  certain  shame  kept  me  far  from  Hania.  In  her  presence 
I  was  ashamed  of  my  last  conversation  with  Selim,  of 
my  recent  harshness,  of  my  whole  role,  and  finally  of 
this,  that  without  approaching  her  I  still  followed  her 
from  a  distance.  But  I  had  reason  to  follow  her.  I 
knew  that  Selim  was  circling  about  our  house  day  and 
night,  like  a  bird  of  prey. 

On  the  second  day  after  the  conversation  I  saw  Hania 
hide  hastily  a  written  paper,  beyond  doubt  a  letter  to  or 
from  Selim.  I  divined  even  that  perhaps  they  would  see 
each  other;  but  though  I  watched  in  the  gray  hour  for 
Selim,  I  could  not  catch  him. 

Meanwhile  two  days  passed  quickly,  like  an  arrow 
through  the  air.  On  the  eve  of  the  day  when  she  was  to 
pass  the  night  at  Ustrytsi.my  father  went  to  the  next  town 
to  buy  horses,  and  took  Kazio  to  try  them.  Father  Ludvik 
and  I  were  to  escort  Hania.  I  noticed  that  as  the  decisive 
moment  drew  near  a  wonderful  disquiet  took  possession 
of  her.  She  changed  in  the  eyes,  and  her  whole  body 
trembled.  At  moments  she  shivered  as  if  terrified.  At 
last  the  sun  set  in  a  kind  of  gloom,  behind  thick  yellow- 
ish clouds  piled  on  one  another,  —  clouds  that  threatened 
storm  and  hail.  On  the  western  horizon  distant  thunder- 
rolls  were  heard  in  succession,  like  the  terrible  grumbling 
of  a  coming  tempest.  The  air  was  sultry  and  filled  with 
electricity.  The  birds  had  hidden  under  roofs  and  trees ; 
only  swallows  were  rushing  unquietly  through  the  air. 
The  leaves  ceased  to  rustle  on  the  trees  and  hung  as  if 
they  had  fainted.  From  the  direction  of  the  farmyard 
came  the  plaintive  bellowing  of  cattle,  returning  from 
pasture.  A  species  of  gloomy  unrest  pervaded  all  nature. 


136  HANI  A. 

Father  Ludvik  had  the  windows  closed.  I  wished  to 
reach  Ustrytsi  before  the  outbreak  of  the  storm,  so  I 
sprang  up  to  go  to  the  stable  and  hurry  the  stable-boys. 
When  I  was  leaving  the  room  Hania  stood  up,  but  sat 
down  immediately.  I  looked  at  her.  She  blushed  and 
then  turned  pale. 

"  The  air  oppresses  me  somehow ! "  said  she ;  and,  sit- 
ting near  the  window,  she  began  to  fan  herself  with  a 
handkerchief. 

Her  strange  disquiet  increased  evidently. 

"  We  might  wait,"  said  the  priest ;  "  the  storm  will 
burst  forth  in  half  an  hour  or  so." 

"  In  half  an  hour  we  shall  be  at  Ustrytsi,"  answered  I ; 
"  besides,  who  knows  but  our  fears  may  be  vain."  And 
I  ran  to  the  stable. 

My  horse  was  saddled  already,  but  there  was  delay 
with  the  carriage,  as  usual.  Half  an  hour  had  passed 
before  the  coachman  drove  up  to  the  porch  with  the  car- 
riage. I  was  behind  it  on  horseback.  The  storm  seemed 
to  be  just  overhanging,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  delay  any 
longer.  They  brought  out  Hania's  trunks  at  once  and 
strapped  them  behind  to  the  carriage.  Father  Ludvik 
was  waiting  on  the  porch  in  a  white  linen  coat,  a  white 
umbrella  in  his  hand. 

"  Where  is  Hania  ?     Is  she  ready  ? "  asked  I. 

"  She  is  ready.  She  went  half  an  hour  ago  to  pray 
in  the  chapel." 

I  went  to  the  chapel,  but  did  not  find  Hania.  I  went 
to  the  dining-room,  from  there  to  the  drawing-room, — 
no  Hania  in  any  place. 

"  Hania  !  Hania  !  "  I  began  to  call. 

No  one  gave  answer.  Somewhat  alarmed,  I  went  to  her 
room,  thinking  that  she  might  have  grown  faint.  In  her 
room  the  old  woman  Vengrosia  was  sitting  and  crying. 


HANIA.  137 

"  Is  it  time,"  asked  she,  "  to  take  farewell  of  the  young 
lady?" 

"  Where  is  the  young  lady  ? "  asked  I,  impatiently. 

"  She  went  to  the  garden." 

I  ran  to  the  garden  immediately. 

"  Hania !  Hania  !     It  is  time  to  go." 

Silence. 

"  Hania  !  Hania  ! " 

As  if  in  answer  to  me  the  leaves  began  to  rustle  under 
the  first  breath  of  the  tempest ;  a  few  large  drops  of  rain 
fell,  and  silence  set  in  again. 

"  What  is  this  ? "  asked  I  of  myself,  and  felt  that  the 
hair  was  rising  on  my  head  with  fright. 

"  Hania  !  Hania  ! " 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  me  that  from  the  other  end 
of  the  garden  I  heard  an  answer.  I  recovered  myself. 
"  Oh,  what  a  fool ! "  thought  I,  and  ran  in  the  direction 
whence  the  voice  came.  I  found  nothing  and  nobody. 

On  that  side  the  garden  ended  at  a  paling  ;  beyond  that 
was  a  road  toward  a  sheepfold  in  the  field.  I  seized  hold 
of  the  paling  and  looked  on  the  road.  It  was  empty ;  but 
Ignas,  a  farm-boy,  was  herding  geese  in  a  ditch  near  the 
paling. 

" Ignas ! " 

Ignas  took  off  his  cap  and  ran  toward  the  paling. 

"  Hast  thou  seen  the  young  lady  ? " 

"  I  saw  the  young  lady  when  she  was  going  away." 

"How  ?  when  she  was  going  away  ?" 

"  Toward  the  forest  with  the  Panich  from  Horeli.  Oh, 
they  went,  how  they  went,  as  fast  as  ever  the  horses 
could  gallop  ! " 

Jesus,  Mary !     Hania  had  fled  with  Selim. 

It  grew  dark  in  my  eyes,  and  then  a  lightning-flash,  as 
it  were,  flew  through  my  head.  I  remembered  Hania's 


138  HANIA. 

disquiet ;  that  letter  which  I  had  seen  in  her  hand.  Then 
all  had  been  arranged.  Selim  had  written  to  her  and 
had  seen  her.  They  had  chosen  the  moment  before  our 
departure,  for  they  knew  that  all  would  be  occupied 
then.  Jesus,  Mary !  A  cold  sweat  covered  me.  I  do 
not  remember  when  I  stood  on  the  porch. 

"The  horse  !  the  horse  !"  shouted  I,  in  a  terrible  voice. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  What  has  happened  ? "  cried 
the  priest. 

He  was  answered  only  by  a  roar  of  thunder,  which 
was  heard  at  that  moment.  The  wind  whistled  in  my 
ears  from  the  oaad  rush  of  my  horse.  Dashing  into  the 
alley  of  lime-trees,  I  crossed  it  in  going  toward  the  road 
which  they  had  taken ;  I  rushed  across  one  field,  then 
another,  and  hurried  on.  The  traces  were  evident. 
Meanwhile  the  storm  had  begun ;  it  grew  dark.  On  the 
black  piles  of  clouds  fiery  zigzags  of  lightning  began  to 
define  themselves.  At  times  the  whole  sky  was  one 
blaze ;  then  a  still  denser  darkness  came  down ;  rain 
poured  in  one  torrent.  The  trees  swayed  and  bent  on 
the  roadside.  My  horse,  struck  by  the  mad  blows  of  my 
whip  and  pressed  by  spurs,  was  snorting  and  groaning, 
and  I  also  snorted  from  rage.  Bent  over  the  neck  of  the 
horse,  I  watched  the  tracks  on  the  road,  not  seeing  aught 
else  and  not  thinking  of  it.  In  this  mood  I  rushed  into 
the  forest.  At  that  moment  the  storm  became  still 
more  intense.  A  kind  of  rage  seized  the  earth  and  the 
sky.  The  forest  bent  like  wheat  in  a  field,  and  bran- 
dished around  its  dark  branches ;  the  echoes  of  thunder 
spread  from  pine-tree  to  pine-tree  in  the  gloom ;  the  roar 
of  thunder,  the  sound  of  trees,  the  crash  of  breaking 
limbs,  were  all  mingled  in  a  kind  of  hellish  concert.  I 
could  not  see  traces  now,  but  I  flew  onward  like  a  whirl- 
wind. Only  beyond  the  forest,  by  the  glare  of  lightning, 


HANIA.  139 

did  I  recognize  tracks  again ;  but  I  noticed  with  terror 
that  the  snorting  of  my  horse  grew  more  and  more  violent, 
while  his  speed  became  less.  I  redoubled  the  blows  of 
the  whip. 

Just  beyond  the  forest  began  a  real  sea  of  sand  which 
I  could  avoid  by  going  to  one  side,  while  Selim  had  to 
pass  through  it.  That  must  delay  his  flight. 

I  raised  my  eyes.  "  0  God  !  bring  it  about  that  I  over- 
take them,  and  then  kill  me,  if  't  is  Thy  will !  "  cried  I,  in 
despair.  And  my  prayer  was  heard.  All  at  once  ruddy 
lightning  rent  the  darkness,  and  in  its  bloody  glare  I  saw 
an  escaping  brichka.  I  could  not  distinguish  the  faces 
of  the  fleeing,  but  I  felt  sure  that  they  were  Selim  and 
Hania.  They  were  less  than  one  third  of  a  mile  ahead, 
but  were  not  going  very  swiftly ;  for  because  of  the 
darkness  and  the  floods,  which  the  rain  had  raised,  Selim 
was  forced  to  drive  cautiously.  I  uttered  a  cry  of  rage 
and  delight.  Now  they  could  not  escape  me. 

Selim  looked  around,  shouted  too,  and  fell  to  beating 
the  frightened  horses  with  a  cane.  By  the  gleam  of 
lightning  Hania  too  recognized  me.  I  saw  that  she 
grasped  Selim  in  despair,  and  he  told  her  something.  In 
a  few  seconds  I  was  so  near  that  I  could  hear  Selim's 
voice. 

"  I  have  weapons ! "  cried  he,  in  the  dark.  "  Do  not 
come  near ;  I  shall  shoot." 

But  I  cared  for  nothing.     I  pushed  on  and  on. 

"  Halt ! "  cried  Selim  ;  "  halt !  " 

I  was  scarcely  fifteen  yards  away,  but  the  road  began 
now  to  be  better,  and  Selim  urged  his  horses  into  a  full 
gallop.  The  distance  between  us  increased  for  a  moment, 
but  again  I  began  to  overtake  them.  Selim  turned  then 
and  aimed  his  pistol.  He  was  terrible,  but  he  aimed 
coolly.  Another  moment,  and  I  might  have  touched  the 


140  HANIA. 

carriage  with  my  hand.  Suddenly  the  report  of  a  pistol 
was  heard.  My  horse  threw  himself  to  one  side,  sprang 
still  a  number  of  times,  then  sank  to  his  knees.  I  raised 
him ;  he  reared  on  his  hind  legs,  and,  snorting  heavily, 
rolled  on  the  ground  with  me. 

I  sprang  up  at  once  and  ran  with  all  the  strength  left 
in  me,  but  that  was  a  vain  effort.  Soon  the  brichka  went 
farther  and  farther  from  me ;  then  I  saw  it  only  when 
lightning  rent  the  clouds.  I  tried  to  shout.  I  Could  not ; 
breath  failed  in  my  breast.  The  rattle  of  the  brichka 
came  to  me  fainter  and  fainter ;  at  last  I  stumbled  against 
a  stone  and  fell. 

In  a  moment  I  rose  again.  "  They  have  gone !  they 
have  gone!  they  have  vanished!"  repeated  I,  aloud,  and 
do  not  remember  what  happened  to  me.  I  was  helpless, 
alone  in  the  tempest  and  the  night.  That  Satan  of  a 
Selim  had  conquered  me.  But  if  Kazio  had  not  gone 
with  my  father,  we  should  have  pursued  them  together ; 
and  then  what  would  have  happened  ? 

"  What  will  happen  now  ? "  screamed  I,  loudly,  so  as  to 
hear  my  own  voice  and  not  go  mad.  And  it  seemed  to 
me  that  the  whirlwind  was  jeering  at  me,  and  whistling : 
"  Sit  there  at  the  roadside,  without  a  horse,  while  he  is  off 
there  with  her."  And  thus  the  wind  howled  and  laughed 
and  roared.  I  went  back  slowly  to  my  horse.  From  his 
nostrils  flowed  a  stream  of  dark  stiffening  blood,  but  he 
was  alive  yet ;  he  panted  and  turned  his  dying  eyes  toward 
me.  I  sat  near  him,  rested  my  head  on  his  side,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  too  was  dying.  But  meanwhile  the 
wind  whistled  above  my  head  and  laughed  and  cried, 
"  He  is  there  with  her  !  "  It  seemed  to  me  at  times  that 
I  heard  the  hellish  rattle  of  that  brichka,  flying  off  in  the 
night  with  my  happiness.  And  the  whirlwind  whistled, 
"  He  is  there  with  her  ! " 


HANIA.  141 

A  marvellous  stupefaction  seized  hold  of  me.  How 
long  it  lasted  I  cannot  tell.  When  I  recovered,  the  tem- 
pest had  passed.  Along  the  sky  bright  flocks  of  light, 
whitish  clouds  were  moving;  in  the  intervals  between 
them  the  blue  of  heaven  was  visible,  and  the  moon  was 
shining  brightly.  From  the  field  a  mist  was  rising. 
My  horse,  already  cold,  reminded  me  of  what  had  passed. 
I  looked  around  to  see  where  I  was.  On  the  right  I  per- 
ceived distant  lights  in  windows,  so  I  hurried  toward 
them.  It  turned  out  that  I  was  right  near  Ustrytsi. 

I  resolved  to  go  to  the  mansion  and  see  Pan  Ustrytski, 
which  I  could  do  the  more  easily  since  he  lived  not  in 
the  mansion  itself,  but  had  his  own  little  house ;  in  this 
he  slept  and  spent  his  time  usually.  The  light  was  shin- 
ing yet  in  his  window.  I  knocked  at  the  door.  He 
opened  it  himself,  and  started  back  frightened. 

"  Farce  !  "  cried  he ;  "  what  a  look  thou  hast,  Henryk  ! " 

"  Lightning  killed  my  horse  out  there  on  the  road ;  I 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  come  here." 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father  and  Son !  But  thou 
art  wet  through,  cold.  It  is  late.  Farce !  I  will 
have  something  to  eat  brought  in,  and  dry  clothes  for 
thee." 

"  No,  no ;  I  wish  to  go  home  at  once,  nothing  more." 

"  But  why  did  not  Hania  come  ?  My  wife  will  start 
at  two  in  the  morning.  We  thought  that  you  would 
bring  her  to  spend  the  night." 

I  resolved  at  once  to  tell  him  all,  for  I  needed  his 
assistance. 

"  A  misfortune  has  happened,"  said  I.  "  I  reckon  on 
this,  that  you  will  not  mention  the  matter  to  any  one, 
neither  to  your  wife,  nor  your  daughters,  nor  the  govern- 
esses. The  honor  of  our  house  is  at  stake  here." 

I  knew  that  he  would  tell  no  one,  but  I  had  little  hope 


142  HANIA. 

that  the  affair  would  be  concealed ;  therefore  I  preferred 
to  anticipate,  so  that  in  a  given  event  he  could  explain 
what  had  happened.  And  I  told  him  all,  declaring  that 
I  was  in  love  with  Hania. 

"  But  thou  must  fight  with  Selim,  I  suppose  ?  Farce  ! 
what  —  "  said  he,  listening  to  the  end. 

"  Yes ;  I  wish  to  fight  with  him  to-morrow.  But  to-day 
I  must  pursue  them,  and  therefore  I  beg  you  to  give  me 
your  best  horse  immediately." 

"  Thou  hast  no  need  to  pursue  them.  They  have  not 
gone  far.  They  took  various  roads  and  returned  to 
Horeli.  Where  could  they  go  ?  Farce  !  They  returned 
to  Horeli,  and  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  old  Mirza.  They 
had  no  other  escape.  The  old  Mirza  confined  Selim  in 
the  granary,  and  the  young  lady  he  will  taka  back  to  thy 
house.  A  farce,  is  it !  But  Hania  !  Hania  !  well  •  " 

"Pan  Ustrytski!" 

"  Well,  well,  my  child,  be  not  angry.  I  do  not  take 
this  ill  of  her.  My  women,  that  is  different.  But  why 
lose  time  ? " 

"  That  is  true  ;  let  us  not  lose  time." 

Pan  Ustrytski  stopped  for  a  moment.  "  I  know  now 
what  to  do.  I  will  go  straightway  to  Horeli,  and  do  thou 
go  home,  or  better  wait  here.  If  Hania  is  in  Horeli,  I  will 
take  her  and  go  to  thy  house.  Thou  thinkest  they  may 
not  give  her  to  me  ?  Farce  !  But  I  prefer  to  be  with 
the  old  Mirza  when  we  take  her,  for  thy  father  is  quick- 
tempered, ready  to  challenge  the  old  man,  but  the  old 
man  is  not  to  blame.  Is  he  ?  " 

"  My  father  is  not  at  home." 

"  So  much  the  better  ! " 

Pan  Ustrytski  slapped  his  hands. 

"  Yanek  ! " 

The  servant  entered. 


HANIA.  143 

"  Horses  and  a  brichka  for  me  in  ten  minutes.  Dost 
understand  ? " 

"  And  horses  for  me  ? "  said  I. 

"  And  horses  for  this  gentleman !  Farce  !  lord  bene- 
factor." 

We  were  silent  for  a  time. 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  write  a  letter  to  Selim  ? "  asked 
I.  "  I  wish  to  challenge  him  by  letter." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  I  am  afraid  that  the  old  man  will  not  let  him  fight. 
He  will  confine  him  a  time  and  think  that  sufficient. 
But  for  me  that  is  little,  little !  If  Selim  is  in  prison  al- 
ready, you  will  not  see  him ;  that  cannot  be  brought  about 
through  the  old  man ;  but  a  letter  may  be  left  for  any  one. 
Besides,  I  shall  not  tell  my  father  that  I  am  going  to 
fight.  He  might  challenge  the  old  Mirza,  and  the  old 
Mirza  is  not  to  blame.  But  if  Selim  and  I  fight  to  begin 
with,  there  will  be  no  reason  for  their  fighting.  Indeed, 
you  said  yourself  that  I  must  fight  with  him." 

"  I  thought  this  way  :  fight,  fight !  That  is  always  the 
best  way  for  a  noble ;  whether  old  or  young,  it  is  one. 
For  some  one  else,  a  farce !  but  not  for  a  noble.  Well, 
write  ;  thou  art  correct." 

I  sat  down  and  wrote  as  follows :  "  Thou  art  contemp- 
tible. With  this  letter  I  slap  thee  in  the  face.  If  thou 
wilt  not  appear  to-morrow  near  Vah's  cottage  with  pistols 
or  with  swords,  thou  wilt  be  the  last  of  cowards,  which 
very  likely  thou  art." 

'  I  sealed  the  letter  and  gave  it  to  Pan  Ustrytski.  Then 
we  went  out ;  the  brichkas  had  come  already.  Before 
sitting  in  mine,  one  terrifying  thought  came  to  my 
head. 

"  But,"  said  I  to  Pan  Ustrytski,  "  if  Selim  took  Hania 
not  to  Horeli  ?  " 


144  HANI  A. 

"  If  not  to  Horeli,  then  he  has  gained  time.  It  is 
night ;  there  are  fifty  roads  in  every  direction,  and  — 
look  for  a  wind  in  the  fields.  But  where  could  he  have 
taken  her  ? " 

"  To  the  town  of  N." 

"  Sixteen  miles  with  the  same  horses.  Then  be  at 
rest.  A  farce  !  is  n't  it  ?  I  will  go  to  N.  to-morrow, 
to-day  even,  but  first  to  Horeli.  I  repeat  to  thee,  be  at 
rest." 

An  hour  later  I  was  at  home.  It  was  late  at  night, 
very  late  even,  but  lights  were  gleaming  everywhere  in 
the  windows.  Soon  people  were  running  with  candles 
through  various  rooms.  When  my  brichka  stopped  be- 
fore the  porch,  the  doors  squeaked,  and  Father  Ludvik 
came  out  with  a  lamp  in  his  hand. 

"Be  quiet!"  whispered  he,  putting  his  finger  to  his 
mouth. 

"  But  Hania  ?  "  inquired  I,  feverishly. 

"  Hania  is  here  already.  The  old  Mirza  brought  her 
back.  Come  to  my  room.  I  will  tell  thee  all." 

I  went  to  the  priest's  room. 

"  What  happened  to  thee  ?  " 

"  I  pursued  them.  Selim  shot  my  horse.  Is  father 
here  ? " 

"  He  came  just  after  the  old  Mirza  had  gone.  Oh, 
misfortune  !  misfortune !  The  doctor  is  with  him  now. 
We  were  afraid  that  he  would  have  an  apoplectic  stroke. 
He  wanted  to  go  and  challenge  the  old  Mirza  immedi- 
ately. Don't  go  to  thy  father,  for  it  might  harm  him. 
To-morrow  beg  him  not  to  challenge  the  Mirza.  That 
would  be  a  grievous  sin,  and,  besides,  the  old  man  is  not 
to  blame.  He  beat  Selim  and  confined  him ;  Hania  he 
brought  home  himself.  He  enjoined  silence  on  his  ser- 
vants. It  is  fortunate  that  he  did  not  find  thy  father." 


HANIA.  145 

It  turned  out  that  Pan  Ustrytski  had  foreseen  every- 
thing perfectly. 

"  How  is  Hania  ?  " 

"  Every  thread  on  her  was  wet.  She  has  a  fever.  Thy 
father  gave  her  a  dreadful  scolding.  The  poor  child  !  " 

"  Did  Doctor  Stanislav  see  her  ?  " 

"  He  did,  and  commanded  her  to  go  to  bed  without 
delay.  Old  Vengrosia  is  sitting  near  her.  Wait  here  for 
me.  I  will  go  to  thy  father  and  tell  him  that  thou  hast 
come.  He  sent  horsemen  after  thee  in  every  direction. 
Kazio  too  is  not  at  home,  for  he  has  gone  to  look  for  thee. 
O  God !  0  God,  Thou  Almighty,  what  has  happened 
here ! " 

So  saying,  the  priest  went  to  my  father.  But  I  could 
not  wait  in  his  room.  I  ran  to  Hania.  I  did  not  wish 
to  see  her,  oh,  no  !  that  would  cost  her  too  much.  I 
wished  rather  to  be  sure  that  she  had  really  returned, 
that  she  was  again  out  of  danger,  under  our  roof,  near 
me,  sheltered  from  the  tempest  and  the  terrible  events 
of  that  day. 

Wonderful  feelings  shook  me  when  I  approached  her 
room.  Not  anger,  riot  hatred,  did  I  feel  in  my  heart, 
but  a  great  and  deep  sorrow,  an  inexpressible  compassion 
for  that  poor  unfortunate  victim  of  Selim's  madness.  I 
thought  of  her  as  of  a  dove,  which  a  falcon  had  swept 
away.  Ah!  how  much  humiliation  the  poor  thing  must 
have  felt,  through  what  shame  she  must  have  passed  in 
Horeli,  in  presence  of  the  old  Mirza  !  I  swore  to  myself 
that  I  would  not  reproach  her  to-day  or  ever,  and  would 
act  with  her  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

At  the  moment  when  I  reached  the  chamber  door,  it 
opened ;  old  Vengrosia  came  out.  I  stopped  her  and 
inquired,  — 

"  Is  the  young  lady  sleeping  ?  " 

10 


146  HANIA. 

"  She  is  not ;  she  is  not,"  repeated  the  old  woman. 
"  Oh,  my  golden  young  master,  if  you  had  seen  what 
was  here  !  When  the  old  lord  bellowed  at  the  young 
lady,  I  thought  the  poor  dear  would  die  on  the  spot. 
And  she  was  terrified  and  wet  through.  0  Jesus ! 
Jesus  ! " 

"  But  now  how  is  she  ? " 

"  You  will  see  that  she  is  sick  altogether.  It  is  lucky 
that  the  doctor  is  here." 

I  commanded  Vengrosia  to  return  at  once  to  Hania, 
and  not  to  shut  the  door ;  for  I  wished  to  look  at  her 
from  a  distance.  In  fact,  looking  from  the  dark  chamber 
through  the  open  door,  I  saw  her  sitting  on  the  bed, 
dressed  in  night-clothing.  A  deep  flush  was  on  her  face ; 
her  eyes  were  gleaming.  I  saw  besides  that  she  was 
breathing  quickly  ;  evidently  she  had  a  fever. 

I  hesitated  for  a  time  whether  to  go  in  or  not ;  but  at 
that  moment  Father  Luclvik  touched  my  shoulder. 

"  Thy  father  calls  thee,"  said  he. 

"  Father  Ludvik,  she  is  sick  !  " 

"  The  doctor  will  come  at  once.  Meanwhile  thou  wilt 
talk  to  thy  father.  Go,  go  ;  it  is  late." 

"What  o'clock?" 

"  One  in  the  morning." 

I  struck  my  forehead  with  my  hand.  But  I  had  to 
fight  with  Selim  at  five  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTEK   XL 

A  FTER  a  talk  with  my  father  which  lasted  half  an 
-t~V  hour,  I  returned  to  the  station,  but  did  not  lie 
down.  I  calculated  that  to  reach  Van's  at  five  I  must 
leave  the  house  by  four  at  least,  therefore  I  had  not 


HANIA.  147 

quite  three  hours  before  me.  Soon  after,  Father  Ludvik 
came  to  see  if  I  were  not  ill  after  that  mad  ride,  and  if 
I  had  changed  clothing  properly  after  being  wet;  but 
for  me  to  be  wet  was  the  same  as  not  to  be  wet.  The 
priest  urged  me  to  go  to  bed  at  once ;  meanwhile  he  for- 
got himself  in  talk,  and  so  an  hour  passed. 

He  narrated  in  detail  all  that  the  old  Mirza  had  said. 
It  seemed  that  Selim  had  simply  committed  an  act  of 
madness ;  but,  as  he  told  his  father,  he  saw  no  other 
method.  It  seemed  to  him  that  after  the  flight,  his 
father  would  have  no  escape  but  to  bless  him,  and  we 
none  but  to  give  him  Hania.  It  was  also  disclosed  that 
after  talking  with  me  not  only  did  he  write  to  Hania, 
but  he  had  a  meeting  with  her ;  and  it  was  then  that  he 
persuaded  her  to  flee  with  him.  The  girl,  though  she 
did  not  comprehend  the  results  of  this  step,  resisted  in- 
stinctively with  all  her  might ;  but  Selim  involved  her 
with  his  prayers  and  his  love.  He  represented  to  her 
that  the  flight  was  simply  a  drive  to  Horeli,  after  which 
they  would  be  united  forever  and  be  happy.  He  assured 
her  that  afterward  he  would  bring  her  to  us,  but  as  his 
betrothed ;  that  my  father  would  agree  to  everything ; 
that  I  must  agree,  and,  what  was  more,  I  would  console 
myself  easily  with  Lola  Ustrytski.  Finally,  he  implored, 
entreated,  and  begged  Hania.  He  said  that  for  her  he 
would  sacrifice  everything,  even  life ;  that  he  could  not 
survive  separation  ;  that  he  would  drown,  shoot,  or  poison 
himself.  And  then  he  cast  himself  at  her  feet  and  so 
persuaded  her  that  she  agreed  to  everything.  But  when 
the  flight  began,  and  they  had  started,  Hania  grew 
terrified  and  begged  him  with  tears  to  return;  but  he 
would  not,  for,  as  he  told  his  father,  he  forgot  the  whole 
world  then. 

This  was  what  the  old  Mirza  told  Father  Ludvik,  and  he 


148  HANIA. 

told  it,  perhaps,  to  show  that  though  Selim  ventured  on  a 
mad  deed  he  had  done  so  in  good  faith.  Taking  every- 
thing into  consideration,  Father  Ludvik  did  not  share  the 
anger  of  my  father,  who  was  indignant  at  Hania's  ingrati- 
tude. According  to  the  priest  Hania  was  not  ungrateful ; 
she  was  simply  led  astray  by  sinful  worldly  love.  For  that 
reason  the  priest  gave  me  some  edifying  instruction  about 
worldly  feelings,  but  I  did  not  take  it  ill  at  all  of  Hania 
that  her  love  was  worldly  ;  I  would  have  been  willing  to 
pay  with  my  life  had  that  love  been  differently  directed. 
I  felt  the  greatest  compassion  for  Hania,  and  moreover  my 
heart  had  so  grown  to  her  that,  had  I  wished  to  tear  it 
away,  I  should  have  had  to  tear  it  asunder.  Therefore  I 
begged  Father  Ludvik  to  take  her  part  before  my  father, 
and  to  explain  to  him  her  act  as  he  had  to  me.  I  took 
farewell  of  him  then,  for  I  wished  to  be  alone. 

After  the  priest  had  gone,  I  took  down  that  famous  old 
sabre,  given  me  by  my  father,  and  the  pistols,  to  prepare 
for  the  meeting  of  the  morning.  Of  that  meeting  I  had  had 
neither  the  time  nor  the  wish  to  think  hitherto.  I  wished 
to  fight  for  life  and  death ;  that  was  all.  As  to  Selim,  I  was 
convinced  that  he  would  not  disappoint  me.  I  wiped  my 
sabre  carefully  with  soft  cotton  along  its  broad  blue 
blade.  In  spite  of  something  like  two  hundred  years,  it 
had  not  one  dent,  though  in  its  day  it  had  opened  not  a 
few  helmets  and  breastplates,  and  drunk  no  little  Swed- 
ish, Tartar,  and  Turkish  blood.  The  golden  inscription^ 
"  Jesus,  Mary,"  shone  distinctly.  I  tried  the  edge  ;  it  was 
as  fine  as  the  edge  of  a  satin  ribbon.  The  blue  turquoises 
on  the  hilt  seemed  to  smile,  as  if  begging  for  a  hand  to 
grasp  and  warm  them. 

Having  finished  with  the  sabre,  I  took  the  pistols,  for 
I  knew  not  what  weapons  Selim  might  choose.  I 
dropped  olive  oil  on  the  locks,  put  bits  of  linen  cloth 


HANIA.  149 

around  the  bullets,  and  loaded  both  carefully.  They 
were  ready  now.  It  was  three  o'clock.  When  I  had 
finished  the  work,  I  threw  myself  into  an  armchair  and 
began  to  meditate.  From  the  course  of  events,  and  from 
what  Father  Ludvik  had  told  me,  one  point  became  more 
and  more  evident :  that  I  was  to  blame  not  a  little  for 
all  that  had  happened.  I  asked  myself  if  I  had  fulfilled 
properly  the  duty  of  guardian  which  old  Mikolai  had  im- 
posed on  me,  and  I  answered,  No.  Had  I  thought  of 
Hania,  and  not  of  myself  ?  I  answered,  No  !  Of  whom 
had  I  been  thinking  in  all  this  affair  ?  Directly  of  myself. 
And  meanwhile  Hania,  that  mild,  defenceless  creature, 
was  among  us,  like  a  dove  among  birds  of  prey.  I  could 
not  stifle  in  myself  the  immensely  bitter  thought  that 
Selim  and  I  had  torn  her  like  a  tempting  booty ;  and 
in  that  struggle,  during  which  the  robber  actors  were 
thinking  mainly  of  themselves,  she  had  suffered  most  who 
was  least  to  blame.  Now  in  a  couple  of  hours  we  were 
to  have  our  last  battle  concerning  her. 

These  thoughts  were  bitter  and  grievous.  It  turned 
out  that  this  whole  world  of  nobles  was  too  rude  for 
Hania.  Unfortunately  my  mother  had  not  been  at  home 
for  a  long  time,  and  we  men  had  hands  that  were  too 
rough ;  we  had  crushed  between  them  the  delicate  flower 
thrown  among  us  by  fate.  Blame  hung  over  our  whole 
house,  and  this  blame  must  be  effaced  with  my  blood 
or  Selim's.  I  was  ready  for  either  event. 

Meanwhile  the  light  of  day  had  begun  to  look  in  with 
increasing  force  through  my  window.  I  quenched  the 
candles  burning  on  the  table;  it  was  almost  daylight. 
Half-past  four  struck  clearly  in  the  hall  of  the  house. 

"  Well,  it  is  time  ! "  thought  I ;  and,  throwing  a  cloak 
over  my  shoulders  to  hide  the  weapons  in  case  some  one 
met  me,  I  went  out  of  the  station. 


150  HANIA. 

While  passing  near  the  house,  I  noticed  that  the  main 
door  in  the  entrance,  which  was  fastened  at  night  usually 
by  the  jaws  of  an  iron  lion,  was  open.  Evidently  some 
one  had  gone  out ;  hence  I  needed  to  take  every  precaution 
not  to  meet  that  person.  Stealing  along  silently  by  the 
side  of  the  front  yard  toward  the  linden-trees,  I  looked 
carefully  on  all  sides,  but  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  everything 
round  about  were  sleeping  calmly.  Only  in  the  alley  did 
I  raise  my  head  boldly,  feeling  sure  that  they  would  not 
see  me  now  from  the  mansion.  The  morning  was  very 
clear  and  beautiful  after  yesterday's  tempest.  The  sweet 
odor  of  wet  lindens  met  me  with  great  freshness  in  the 
alley.  I  turned  on  the  left  toward  the  forge,  the  mill, 
and  the  dam ;  that  was  the  road  to  Vah's  cottage.  Sleep 
and  weariness  fled  far  away  from  me  under  the  influence 
of  the  fresh  morning  and  fine  weather.  I  was  full  of  a 
certain  good  hope ;  some  internal  forewarning  told  me  that 
in  that  struggle  which  was  to  come,  I  should  conquer. 
Selim  used  pistols  like  a  master,  but  I  was  not  inferior  as 
a  shot ;  in  handling  a  sabre  he  surpassed  me  in  skill,  it  is 
true,  but  to  make  up  I  was  far  stronger  than  he,  to  that  de- 
gree stronger  that  he  could  hardly  endure  my  strokes  on 
his  sabre.  "  And,  moreover,  come  what  may,"  thought  I, 
'•'  this  is  the  end ;  and  if  it  is  not  the  solution,  it  will  be 
the  cutting  of  the  Gordian  knot  which  has  bound  me  and 
stifled  me  so  long.  Besides,  in  good  or  bad  faith,  Selim 
has  wrought  great  injustice  on  Hania,  and  he  must  atone 
for  it." 

Thus  meditating,  I  reached  the  bank  of  the  pond. 
Mist  and  steam  had  dropped  from  the  air  onto  the  water. 
Daylight  had  painted  the  blue  surface  of  the  pond  with 
the  colors  of  dawn.  Early  morning  had  only  just  begun. 
The  air  was  growing  more  and  more  transparent ;  it  was 
fresh  everywhere,  calm,  rosy,  quiet ;  only  from  the  reeds 


HANIA.  151 

came  to  my  ears  the  quacking  of  wild  ducks.  I  was  near 
the  sluices  and  bridge,  when  I  stopped  on  a  sudden,  as  if 
driven  into  the  earth. 

On  the  bridge  stood  my  father,  with  his  arms  behind 
him  and  a  quenched  pipe  in  one  hand.  Leaning  on  the 
railing  of  the  bridge,  he  was  looking  thoughtfully  at  the 
water  and  the  morning  dawn.  It  was  evident  that  he 
as  well  as  I  had  been  unable  to  sleep,  and  he  had  gone 
out  to  breathe  the  morning  air,  or  perhaps  to  look  here 
and  there  at  the  management. 

I  did  not  see  him  at  once,  for  I  was  walking  at  the 
side  of  the  road,  so  the  willows  hid  the  railing  of  the 
bridge  from  me ;  but  I  was  not  more  than  ten  yards 
away.  I  hid  behind  the  willows,  not  knowing  at  the 
moment  what  to  do. 

But  my  father  stood  in  the  same  place  all  the  time.  I 
looked  at  him.  Sleeplessness  and  anxiety  were  apparent 
on  his  face.  He  cast  his  eyes  at  the  pond  and  muttered 
the  morning  prayer. 

To  my  ears  came  the  words,  — 

"  Hail,  Mary,  full  of  grace  J  The  Lord  be  with  Thee  ! " 
Here  he  whispered  the  continuation,  and  again  aloud,  — 

"  And  blessed  be  the  fruit  of  Thy  womb.     Amen  ! " 

I  was  impatient  at  standing  behind  the  willows,  and  I 
determined  to  slip  by  quietly  over  the  bridge.  I  could 
do  that,  for  my  father  was  turned  toward  the  water ;  and, 
besides,  he  was  a  little  deaf,  as  I  have  mentioned,  for 
during  his  time  in  the  army  he  had  been  deafened  by  the 
excessive  roar  of  artillery.  Stepping  along  cautiously,  I  was 
passing  the  bridge  beyond  the  willows,  but  unfortunately 
a  badly  fastened  plank  moved.  My  father  looked  around. 

"  What  art  thou  doing  here  ? "  asked  he. 

"  Oh,  to  walk,  father,  —  I  am  going  to  walk  only,"  an- 
swered I,  growing  as  red  as  a  beet. 


152  HANIA. 

My  father  approached  me,  and  opening  slightly  the 
cloak  with  which  I  had  covered  myself  carefully,  he 
pointed  to  the  sabre  and  pistols. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  asked  he. 

There  was  no  help  for  it ;  I  had  to  confess. 

"  I  will  tell  father  everything,"  I  said  ;  "  I  am  going  to 
fight  with  Selim." 

I  thought  that  he  would  burst  out  in  anger,  but  beyond 
my  expectation  he  only  asked,  — 

"  Who  was  the  challenger  ? " 

ft  T   » 

"  Without  consulting  thy  father,  without  saying  a  word." 

"  I  challenged  him  yesterday  in  Ustrytsi,  immediately 
after  the  pursuit.  I  could  not  ask  about  anything,  father, 
and,  besides,  I  was  afraid  that  thou  wouldst  forbid  me." 

"  Thou  hast  guessed  right.  Go  home.  Leave  the 
whole  affair  to  me." 

My  heart  was  straitened  in  me  with  such  pain  and 
despair  as  never  before. 

"  Father,  I  entreat  thee  by  all  that  is  holy,  by  the 
memory  of  my  grandfather,  do  not  forbid  me  to  fight 
with  the  Tartar.  I  remember  how  thou  didst  call  me  a 
democrat,  and  wert  angry  with  me.  Now  I  remember 
that  thy  blood  as  well  as  grandfather's  is  flowing  in  me. 
Father,  he  injured  Hania  !  is  that  to  go  unpunished  ? 
Give  not  people  the  chance  to  say  that  our  family  let  an  or- 
phan be  wronged,  or  would  not  avenge  her.  I  am  greatly 
to  blame.  I  loved  her,  and  did  not  tell  thee  ;  but  I  swear 
that  even  if  I  had  not  loved,  I  would  for  the  sake  of  her 
orphanhood,  our  house,  and  our  name  do  what  I  am  doing 
now.  Conscience  tells  me  that  this  is  noble ;  and  do 
thou,  father,  not  oppose  me ;  for  if  what  I  say  is  true, 
then  I  do  not  believe  that  thou  wouldst  forbid  me  to  be 
noble.  I  do  not !  I  do  not !  Kemember,  father,  that 


HANIA.  153 

Hania  is  wronged ;  and  I  challenged,  I  gave  my  word.  I 
know  that  I  am  not  mature  yet ;  but  have  not  the  imma- 
ture just  the  same  feelings  and  the  same  honor  as  grown 
persons  ?  I  have  challenged ;  I  have  given  my  word ;  and 
thou  hast  taught  me  more  than  once  that  honor  is  the 
first  right  of  nobles.  I  gave  my  word,  father ;  Hania  was 
wronged ;  there  is  a  spot  on  our  house,  and  I  have  given 
my  word.  Father,  father  ! " 

And  pressing  my  lips  to  his  hand,  I  wept  like  a  beaver ; 
I  prayed  almost  to  my  father ;  but  in  proportion  as  I 
spoke,  his  severe  face  became  gentle,  milder  and  milder ; 
he  raised  his  eyes,  and  a  large  heavy  tear,  really  a  parental 
one,  fell  on  my  forehead.  He  fought  a  grievous  battle 
with  himself,  for  I  was  the  sight  of  his  eyes,  and  he  loved 
me  above  all  things  on  earth ;  therefore  he  trembled  for 
me ;  but  at  last  he  inclined  his  iron-gray  head  and  said 
in  a  low,  barely  audible  voice,  — 

"  May  the  God  of  thy  fathers  conduct  thee  !  Go,  my 
son,  go  to  fight  with  the  Tartar." 

We  fell  into  each  other's  arms.  My  father  pressed  me 
long ;  long  did  he  hold  me  to  his  breast.  But  at  last  he 
shook  himself  out  of  his  emotion,  and  said  with  strength 
and  more  joyously, — 

"  Now  then,  fight,  my  son,  till  thy  battle  is  heard  in 
the  sky  ! " 

I  kissed  his  hand,  and  he  asked,  — 

"  With  swords  or  pistols  ?  " 

"  He  will  choose." 

"  And  the  seconds  ?  " 

"  Without  seconds.  I  trust  him  ;  he  trusts  me.  Why 
do  we  need  seconds  ? " 

Again  I  threw  myself  on  his  neck,  for  it  was  time  to 
go.  I  looked  back  when  I  had  gone  about  a  third  of  a 
mile.  My  father  was  on  the  bridge  yet,  and  blessed  me 


154  HANIA. 

from  afar  with  the  holy  cross.  The  first  rays  of  the  rising 
suii  fell  on  his  lofty  figure,  encircling  it  with  a  kind  of 
aureole.  And  thus  in  the  light,  with  upraised  hands, 
that  veteran  seemed  to  me  like  an  old  eagle  blessing 
from  afar  its  young  for  such  a  high-sounding  and  winged 
life  as  he  himself  had  admired  on  a  time. 

Ah,  how  the  heart  rose  in  me  then !  I  had  so  much 
confidence  and  faith  and  courage  that  if  not  one,  but  ten 
Selims  had  been  waiting  for  me  at  Vah's  cottage,  I  should 
have  challenged  all  ten  of  them  immediately. 

I  came  at  last  to  the  cottage.  Selim  was  waiting  for 
me  at  the  edge  of  the  forest.  I  confess  that  when  I  saw 
him  I  felt  in  my  heart  something  like  that  which  a  wolf 
feels  when  he  sees  his  prey.  We  looked  each  other  in 
the  eyes  threateningly,  and  with  curiosity.  Selim  had 
changed  in  those  two  days ;  he  had  grown  thin  and  ugly, 
but  maybe  it  only  seemed  to  me  that  he  had  grown  ugly, 
his  eyes  gleamed  feverishly,  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
quivered. 

We  went  immediately  to  the  depth  of  the  forest,  but 
we  did  not  speak  a  word  the  whole  way. 

At  last,  when  I  found  a  little  opening  among  the  pines, 
I  stopped,  and  asked,  — 

"  Here.     Agreed  ? " 

He  nodded  his  head  and  began  to  unbutton  his  coat,  so 
as  to  take  it  off  before  the  duel. 

"  Choose  ! "  said  I,  pointing  to  the  pistols  and  the  sabre. 

He  pointed  to  a  sabre  which  he  had  with  him :  it  was 
Turkish,  a  Damascus  blade,  much  curved  toward  the 
point. 

Meanwhile  I  threw  off  my  coat;  he  followed  my 
example,  but  first  he  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and 
said,  — 

"  If  I  die,  I  beg  to  give  this  to  Panna  Hania." 


HANIA.  155 

"  I  will  not  receive  it." 

"  This  is  not  a  confession ;  it  is  an  explanation." 

"  Agreed  !  I  will  take  it." 

Thus  speaking,  we  rolled  up  our  shirt-sleeves.  Only 
now  did  my  heart  begin  to  beat  more  vigorously.  At 
last  Selim  seized  the  hilt  of  his  sabre,  straightened  him- 
self, took  the  position  of  a  fencer,  challenging,  proud, 
and  holding  the  sabre  higher  than  his  head,  said  briefly,  — 

"  1  am  ready." 

I  struck  on  him  at  once,  and  so  impetuously  that  he 
had  to  retreat  a  number  of  steps,  and  he  received  my 
blows  011  his  sabre  with  difficulty  ;  he  answered,  however, 
each  blow  with  a  blow,  and  with  such  swiftness  that 
stroke  and  answer  were  heard  almost  simultaneously.  A 
flush  covered  his  face;  his  nostrils  distended;  his  eyes 
stared  out  slantingly  in  Tartar  fashion,  and  began  to  cast 
lightning. 

For  a  while  there  was  nothing  to  be  heard  but  the 
clink  of  blades,  the  dry  sound  of  steel,  and  the  whistling 
breath  of  our  breasts. 

Selim  soon  understood  that  if  the  struggle  was  to  con- 
tinue, he  must  fall,  for  neither  his  lungs  nor  his  strength 
would  hold  out.  Large  drops  of  sweat  came  out  on  his 
forehead ;  his  breath  grew  hoarser  and  hoarser.  But  also 
a  certain  rage  possessed  him,  a  certain  madness  of  battle. 
His  hair,  tossed  around  by  the  movement,  fell  on  his 
forehead,  and  in  his  open  mouth  shone  his  white  teeth. 
You  would  have  said  that  the  Tartar  nature  had  become 
roused  in  him  and  grown  wild  when  he  felt  the  sabre  in 
his  hand  and  smelt  blood.  Still  I  had  the  advantage  of 
equal  fury  with  greater  strength.  Once  he  could  not 
withstand  the  blow,  and  blood  trickled  from  his  left  arm. 
After  a  few  seconds,  the  very  point  of  my  sabre  touched 
his  forehead.  He  was  terrible  then,  with  that  red  ribbon 


156  HANIA. 

of  blood  mixed  with  sweat  and  trickling  down  to  his 
mouth  and  chin.  It  seemed  to  rouse  him.  He  sprang  up 
to  me  and  sprang  away  like  a  wounded  tiger.  The  point 
of  his  sabre  circled  with  the  terrible  swiftness  of  a  fiery 
thunderbolt,  around  my  head,  arms,  and  breast.  I  caught 
those  mad  blows  with  difficulty,  all  the  more  since  I 
was  thinking  rather  of  giving  than  taking.  At  times  we 
came  so  near  each  other  that  breast  almost  struck  breast. 
All  at  once,  Selim  sprang  away ;  his  sabre  whistled 
right  near  my  temple;  but  I  warded  it  off  with  such 
strength  that  his  head  was  for  a  moment  undefended. 
I  aimed  a  blow  capable  of  splitting  it  in  two,  and  —  a 
thunderbolt,  as  it  were,  struck  my  head  suddenly.  I 
cried,  "  Jesus,  Mary  ! "  the  sabre  dropped  from  my  hand, 
and  I  fell  with  my  face  to  the  earth. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

\  T  7HAT  happened  to  me  during  a  long  time,  I  do  not 
V  V  remember,  nor  do  I  know.  When  I  woke,  I  was 
lying  on  my  back  in  a  chamber  and  on  my  father's  bed. 
My  father  was  sitting  near  me  in  an  armchair,  with  his 
head  bent  back,  pale,  and  with  closed  eyes.  The  blinds 
were  shut ;  lights  were  burning  on  the  table ;  and  in  the 
great  stillness  of  the  chamber,  I  heard  only  the  ticking 
of  the  clock.  I  stared  for  some  time  at  the  ceiling 
vacantly,  and  was  summoning  my  thoughts  sluggishly ; 
then  I  tried  to  move,  but  unendurable  pain  in  my  head 
prevented  me.  This  pain  reminded  me  a  little  of  all  that 
had  happened,  so  I  called  in  a  low,  weak  voice,  — 

"  Father ! " 

My  father  quivered  and  bent  over  me.  Joy  and  tender- 
ness were  expressed  on  his  face,  and  he  said,  — 


HANIA.  157 

"  O  God !  thanks  to  Thee !  He  has  recovered  conscious- 
ness. What  son  ?  what  ? " 

"  Father,  I  fought  with  Selim." 

"  Yes,  my  love  !     Do  not  think  of  that." 

Silence  continued  for  a  while,  then  I  asked,  — 

"  Father,  but  who  brought  me  to  this  room  from  the 
forest  ? " 

"  I  brought  thee  in  my  arms ;  but  do  not  say  anything, 
do  not  torment  thyself." 

Not  five  minutes  had  passed  when  I  inquired  again.  I 
spoke  very  slowly,  — 

•"  Father  ? " 

"  What,  my  child  ? " 

"  But  what  happened  to  Selim  ? " 

"  He  fainted  also  from  loss  of  blood.  I  had  him  carried 
to  Horeli." 

I  wanted  to  inquire  about  Hania  and  my  mother,  but  I 
felt  that  consciousness  was  leaving  me  again.  I  thought 
that  black  arid  yellow  dogs  were  dancing  on  their  hind 
legs  around  my  bed,  and  I  looked  at  them.  Then  again 
I  seemed  to  hear  the  sounds  of  village  fifes  ;  at  moments, 
instead  of  the  clock  which  hung  opposite  my  bed,  I  saw 
a  face  look  out  of  the  wall  and  draw  back  again.  That 
was  not  a  condition  of  complete  unconsciousness,  but  of 
fever  and  a  scattering  of  thought;  but  it  must  have 
lasted  rather  long. 

At  times  I  was  a  little  better,  arid  then  I  half  recog- 
nized the  faces  around  my  bed,  —  now  my  father  now  the 
priest,  now  Kazio,  now  Doctor  Stanislav.  I  remember 
that  among  those  faces  was  lacking  one.  I  could  not 
make  out  which ;  but  I  know  that  I  felt  that  lack,  and  I 
sought  that  face  instinctively. 

One  night  when  I  had  slept  very  soundly,  I  woke 
toward  morning.  The  lights  were  burning:  on  the  table. 


158  HANIA. 

I  was  very,  very  weak.  All  at  once  I  discerned  a  person 
bent  over  the  bed  whom  I  did  not  know  at  first,  but  at 
sight  of  whom  I  felt  as  well  as  if  I  had  died  and  was 
taken  into  heaven.  That  was  a  kind  of  angelic  face ;  but 
so  angelic,  so  sacred,  kind,  with  tears  flowing  out  of  its 
eyes,  that  I  felt  as  though  I  were  preparing  to  weep. 
Then  a  spark  of  consciousness  returned  to  me ;  it  grew 
bright  in  my  eyes ;  and  I  called  weakly  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  Mamma ! " 

The  angelic  face  bent  to  my  emaciated  hand,  lying 
motionless  on  the  coverlet,  and  pressed  lips  to  it.  I  tried 
to  raise  myself,  but  felt  pain  again  in  my  temples ;  hence 
I  exclaimed  only,  — 

"Mamma  !  it  pains  ! " 

My  mother,  for  it  was  she,  had  begun  to  change  the 
bandages  with  ice,  which  were  on  my  head.  That  process 
had  caused  me  no  little  suffering;  but  now  those  sweet, 
beloved  hands  with  careful  delicacy  began  to  move 
around  my  poor  slashed  head,  so  that,  not  feeling  the 
least  pain,  I  whispered, — 

"  Pleasant !     Oh,  pleasant !  " 

Thenceforward  I  had  more  consciousness ;  only  toward 
evening  I  fell  into  a  fever;  then  I  saw  Hania,  though 
when  I  was  conscious  I  never  saw  her  near  me.  But  I 
saw  her  always  in  some  danger.  At  one  time  a  wolf  with 
red  eyes  was  rushing  at  her ;  again  some  one  was  carrying 
her  away,  —  as  it  were,  Selim,  as  it  were,  not  Selim,  but 
with  a  face  grown  over  with  black  bristles  and  with  horns 
on  his  head.  Then  I  cried  out  sometimes  ;  and  sometimes 
I  begged  that  wolf,  or  that  horned  one,  very  politely  and 
humbly,  not  to  carry  her  away.  At  those  moments  my 
mother  placed  her  hands  on  my  forehead,  and  the  evil 
visions  vanished  immediately. 

At  last  the  fever  left  me  for  good.     I  regained  perfect 


HANIA.  159 

consciousness.  That  did  not  mean  that  I  was  in  better 
health.  Some  other  kind  of  sickness  attached  itself,  a 
certain  unheard  of  weakness,  under  the  influence  of 
which  I  was  evidently  sinking. 

During  whole  days  and  nights  I  looked  at  one  point  in 
the  ceiling.  I  was  as  if  conscious,  but  indifferent  to  all 
things ;  I  cared  not  for  life,  nor  death,  nor  the  persons 
watching  over  my  bed.  I  received  impressions,  saw 
everything  that  was  passing  around  me,  remembered 
everything,  but  I  had  not  strength  to  collect  my  thoughts, 
I  had  not  strength  to  feel. 

One  evening  it  seemed  evident  that  I  was  dying.  A 
great  yellow  candle  was  placed  near  my  bed ;  then  I  saw 
Father  Ludvik  in  his  vestments.  He  gave  me  the  sacra- 
ment, then  he  put  the  holy  oil  on  me,  and  after  that  he 
sobbed  so  that  he  came  near  losing  consciousness.  They 
carried  my  mother  out  in  a  faint.  Kazio  was  howling  at 
the  wall  and  tearing  his  hair.  My  father  was  sitting  with 
clasped  hands ;  he  was  just  as  if  petrified.  I  saw  all  of 
this  perfectly,  but  was  perfectly  indifferent ;  and  I  looked 
as  usual  with  dead,  glassy  eyes  on  the  ceiling,  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed  or  the  foot  of  it,  or  at  the  window, 
through  which  were  coming  in  milky  and  silvery  bundles 
of  moonlight. 

Then,  through  all  doors,  the  servants  began  to  push 
into  the  room,  crying,  sobbing,  and  howling.  Kazio  led 
them  in,  arid  they  filled  the  whole  room ;  but  my  father 
sat  there  as  stony  as  before.  At  last  when  all  had  knelt 
down,  the  priest  began  the  Litany,  but  stopped,  for  he 
could  not  go  on  from  tears.  My  father  sprang  up  sud- 
denly, and  bellowing,  "  0  Jesus  !  0  Jesus  !  "  threw  him- 
self his  whole  length  on  the  floor. 

At  that  moment  I  felt  that  the  points  of  my  toes  and 
my  feet  were  beginning  to  grow  cold  ;  a  certain  wonderful 


160  HANIA. 

drowsiness  seized  me,  and  a  yawning.  "  Ah !  now  I  am 
dying  ! "  thought  I,  and  fell  asleep. 

But  instead  of  dying  I  fell  asleep  really,  and  slept  so 
well  that  I  did  not  wake  till  twenty-four  hours  later,  and 
so  greatly  strengthened  that  I  was  unable  to  understand 
what  had  happened.  My  indifference  had  vanished ;  my 
powerful  young  constitution  had  conquered  death  itself, 
and  was  roused  to  new  life  and  new  forces.  Now  again 
there  were  such  scenes  of  delight  at  my  bed  that  I  shall 
not  attempt  to  describe  them.  Kazio  was  simply  frantic 
from  happiness. 

They  told  me  later  that  immediately  after  the  duel, 
when  my  father  carried  me  wounded  to  the  house,  and  the 
doctor  could  not  answer  for  my  life,  they  had  to  shut  up 
the  honest  Kazio,  for  he  was  simply  hunting  Selim  like  a 
wild  beast,  and  he  swore  that  if  I  died  he  would  shoot 
the  Tartar  at  sight.  Fortunately  Selim  too  was  wounded 
somewhat,  and  had  to  lie  a  time  in  bed. 

But  now  every  day  brought  me  new  solace.  My  desire 
for  life  returned.  My  father,  my  mother,  the  priest,  and 
Kazio  watched  day  and  night  above  my  bed.  How  I 
loved  them  then ;  how  I  yearned  for  them  when  they  left 
the  room !  But  with  life  the  old  feeling  for  Hania  began 
to  speak  in  my  heart  again.  When  I  woke  from  that 
sleep  which  all  had  considered  at  first  an  eternal  one,  I 
asked  straightway  for  Hania.  My  father  answered  that 
she  was  well ;  but  that  she  had  gone  with  Pani  d'Yves 
and  my  little  sisters  to  his  brother's,  for  the  small-pox 
was  increasing  in  the  village.  He  told  me,  moreover, 
that  he  had  forgiven  her,  that  he  had  forgotten  every- 
thing, and  asked  me  to  be  quiet. 

I  spoke  frequently  of  her  afterward  with  mother,  who, 
seeing  that  that  subject  occupied  me  more  than  all  others. 
began  herself  a  conversation,  and  finished  it  with  the 


HANIA.  161 

kindly  though  indefinite  words  that  when  I  got  well  she 
would  speak  with  my  father  of  many  things  which  to  me 
would  be  very  agreeable,  but  that  I  must  be  quiet  and 
try  to  recover  as  quickly  as  possible. 

While  saying  this,  she  smiled  sadly,  but  I  wished  to 
weep  from  delight.  Once  something  happened  in  the 
house  which  disturbed  my  peace,  and  even  filled  me  with 
fear.  In  the  evening,  when  my  mother  was  sitting  near 
me,  the  serving-man  Franek  came  in  and  asked  her  to 
Hania's  room. 

I  sat  up  immediately  in  bed.  "  Has  Hania  come  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  No ! "  answered  my  mother.  "  She  has  not  come. 
He  asks  me  to  Hania's  room,  for  they  are  painting  there 
and  putting  on  new  paper." 

At  times  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  heavy  cloud  and  an 
ill-concealed  sadness  lay  on  the  foreheads  of  the  persons 
surrounding  me.  I  had  no  knowledge  of  what  was  pass- 
ing, and  my  inquiries  were  set  aside  somehow.  I  asked 
Kazio ;  he  answered  as  did  others,  that  in  the  house 
all  was  well ;  that  our  little  sisters,  Pani  d'Yves,  and 
Hania  would  return  soon ;  and,  finally,  that  I  must  be 
quiet. 

"  But  where  does  this  sadness  come  from  ? "  asked  I. 

"  Seest  thou,  I  will  tell  thee  all.  Selim  and  the  old 
Mirza  come  here  every  day.  Selim  is  in  despair  whole  days. 
He  cries ;  he  wants  absolutely  to  see  thee ;  and  our  mother 
and  father  are  afraid  that  this  visit  would  harm  thee." 

"  Wise  Selim,"  said  I,  smiling,  "  he  came  near  splitting 
my  skull,  and  now  he  is  crying  for  me.  Well,  is  he  think- 
ing of  Hania  all  the  time  ? " 

"  How  could  he  have  Hania  in  his  head  ?  I  know  not. 
For  that  matter,  I  did  not  ask ;  but  I  think  that  he  has 
renounced  her  altogether." 

11 


162  HANIA. 

"  That  is  a  question." 

"In  every  case  some  one  else  will  get  her ;  be  at  rest  on 
that  point." 

Here  Kazio  made  a  wry  face,  student  fashion,  and 
added  with  the  mien  of  a  rogue, — 

"  I  know  even  who.     God  grant  only  that  —  " 

"  That  what  ?  " 

"  That  she  return  as  soon  as  possible,"  added  he,  hurriedly. 

These  words  pacified  me  completely.  A  couple  of  days 
later,  in  the  evening,  my  father  was  sitting  near  me  with 
my  mother.  He  and  I  began  to  play  chess.  After  a 
while  mother  went  out,  leaving  the  door  open.  Through 
the  door  a  whole  row  of  rooms  was  visible ;  at  the  end  of 
this  row  was  Hania's  room.  I  looked  at  it,  but  I  could 
not  see  anything,  for  mine  was  the  only  room  lighted. 
Hania's  door,  so  far  as  I  could  see  in  the  darkness,  was 
closed. 

Then  some  one  went  in,  as  it  were  Doctor  Stanislav,  and 
did  not  shut  the  door. 

My  heart  beat  unquietly.  There  was  light  in  Hania's 
room. 

The  light  fell  in  a  bright  column  to  the  dark  neighbor- 
ing hall ;  and  on  the  background  of  that  clear  column  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  a  delicate  line  of  smoke,  curling 
as  dust  curls  in  sunlight. 

Gradually  an  indefinable  odor  struck  my  nostrils,  but 
an  odor  which  became  stronger  and  stronger  every  mo- 
ment. Suddenly  the  hair  rose  on  my  head.  I  recognized 
the  odor  of  juniper. 

"  Father  !  what  is  that  ? "  cried  I,  throwing  the  chess- 
men and  chess-board  on  the  floor. 

My  father  jumped  up,  confused,  perceiving  also  that 
cursed  odor  of  the  juniper,  and  closed  the  door  of  the 
room  as  quickly  as  possible. 


HANIA.  163 

"  That  is  nothing,"  said  he,  hurriedly. 

But  I  was  already  on  my  feet ;  and  though  I  staggered^ 
I  pushed  quickly  toward  the  door. 

"  They  are  burning  juniper  !  "  cried  I.  "  I  want  to  go 
there." 

My  father  caught  me  by  the  waist. 

"  Do  not  so  !  do  not  go  !     I  forbid  thee." 

o  o 

Despair  seized  me ;  so  grasping  the  bandages  around  my 
head,  I  cried,  — 

"  Well,  I  swear  then  that  I  will  tear  off  these  band- 
ages, and  open  my  wounds  with  my  own  hands.  Hania 
is  dead  !  I  want  to  see  her." 

"  Hania  is  not  dead.  I  give  thee  my  word  ! "  cried  my 
father,  seizing  my  hands  and  struggling  with  me.  "  She 
was  sick,  but  she  is  better.  Calm  thyself  !  Calm  thyself ! 
Have  we  not  had  misfortune  enough  already  ?  I  will 
tell  thee  everything,  but  lie  down.  Thou  canst  not  go  to 
her.  Thou  wouldst  destroy  her.  But  lie  down  ;  I  swear 
to  thee  that  she  is  better." 

My  strength  failed  me,  and  I  fell  on  the  bed,  repeating 
only,  — 

"  My  God  !  My  God  ! " 

"  Henryk,  come  to  thyself !  Art  thou  a  woman  ?  Be  a 
man.  She  is  no  longer  in  danger.  I  have  promised  to 
tell  thee  everything,  and  I  will  tell  it,  but  on  condition 
that  thou  collect  thy  strength.  Lay  thy  head  on  the 
pillow.  That  way.  Cover  thyself,  and  be  quiet." 

I  was  obedient. 

"I  am  quiet;  but  more  quickly,  father,  more  quickly! 
Let  me  know  everything  right  away.  Is  she  really 
better  ?  What  was  the  matter  with  her  ? " 

"  Listen,  then :  that  night  in  which  Selim  took  her 
away  there  was  a  storm.  Hania  wore  only  a  thin  dress 
which  got  wet  to  the  last  thread.  Besides,  that  mad  step 


164  HANI  A. 

cost  her  not  a  little.  In  Horeli,  where  Selim  took  her, 
she  had  no  change  of  clothes,  so  she  returned  in  that  same 
little  wet  dress.  That  very  night  she  got  a  chill  and  a 
violent  fever.  The  next  day  old  Vengrosia  could  not  hold 
her  tongue,  and  told  her  about  thy  trouble.  She  even 
said  that  thou  wert  killed.  Evidently  that  hurt  her.  In 
the  evening  she  was  unconscious.  The  doctor  did  not 
know  for  a  long  time  what  the  matter  was.  Thou  know- 
est  that  small-pox  was  in  the  village ;  it  is  here  yet.  Hania 
caught  the  small-pox." 

I  closed  my  eyes,  for  it  seemed  that  I  was  losing  con- 
sciousness ;  at  last  I  said,  — 

"  Go  on,  father,  for  I  am  calm." 

"  There  were  moments  of  great  danger,"  continued  he. 
"  That  same  day  on  which  we  looked  on  thee  as  lost,  she 
too  was  almost  dying.  But  to  both  of  you  a  lucky  crisis 
came.  To-day  she  is  recovering,  as  well  as  thou.  In  a 
week  or  so  she  will  be  perfectly  well." 

"  But  what  happened  in  the  house  ?  Oh,  what  hap- 
pened ? " 

My  father  was  silent  and  looked  at  me  carefully,  as  if  in 
fear  that  his  words  might  have  shocked  my  still  feeble  mind. 
I  was  lying  motionless.  Silence  continued  a  long  time,  I 
was  collecting  my  thoughts  and  was  looking  at  the  new 
misfortune.  My  father  rose  and  began  to  walk  with  long 
strides  through  the  room,  looking  at  me  from  time  to  time. 

"  Father,"  said  I,  after  a  long  silence. 

"  What,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Is  she  —  is  she  —  greatly  marked  ?  " 

My  voice  was  calm  and  low,  but  my  heart  was  beating 
audibly  in  expectation  of  the  answer. 

"Yes,"  answered  my  father.  "As  usual  after  the 
small-pox.  Maybe  there  will  be  no  marks.  There  are 
marks,  now  ;  but  they  will  disappear,  of  course." 


HANI  A.  165 

I  turned  to  the  wall.  I  felt  that  something  worse 
than  usual  was  happening  to  me. 

A  week  later,  however,  I  was  on  my  feet,  and  in  two 
weeks  I  saw  Hania.  Ah  !  I  will  not  even  attempt  to 
describe  what  had  become  of  that  beautiful,  ideal  face. 
When  the  poor  girl  came  out  of  her  room,  and  I  saw  her 
for  the  first  time,  though  I  had  sworn  to  myself  previ- 
ously that  I  would  not  show  the  least  emotion,  I  became 
weak  and  fell  into  a  dead  faint.  Oh,  how  terribly  marked 
she  was ! 

When  they  brought  me  out  of  the  faint,  Hania  was 
weeping  aloud,  certainly  over  herself  and  me,  for  I  too 
was  more  like  a  shadow  than  a  man. 

"  I  am  the  cause  of  all  this  ! "  repeated  she,  sobbing ; 
"  I  am  the  cause." 

"  Hania,  my  dear  sister,  do  not  weep ;  I  will  love  thee 
always  ! "  and  I  seized  her  hands  to  raise  them  to  my 
lips  as  before.  Suddenly  I  shivered  and  drew  back  my 
lips.  Those  hands,  once  so  white,  delicate,  and  beautiful, 
were  dreadful.  They  were  covered  with  black  spots,  and 
were  rough,  almost  repulsive. 

"  I  will  always  love  thee  ! "  repeated  I,  with  an  effort. 

I  lied.  I  had  immense  compassion  in  my  heart,  and 
the  tearful  love  of  a  brother;  but  the  old  feeling  had 
flown  away,  as  a  bird  flies,  without  leaving  a  trace. 

I  went  to  the  garden ;  and  in  that  same  hop  arbor 
where  the  first  confession  had  taken  place  between  Selim 
and  Hania,  I  cried,  as  after  the  death  of  some  dear  one. 
In  truth,  the  former  Hania  had  died  for  me,  or  rather, 
my  love  had  died  ;  and  in  my  heart  there  remained  merely 
emptiness  and  pain,  as  if  from  an  incurable  wound,  and 
a  memory  that  presses  tears  from  the  eyes. 

I  sat  long  and  long.  The  quiet  autumn  evening  began 
to  flush  in  the  twilight  on  the  tree-tops.  They  looked 


166  HANIA. 

for  me  in  the  house ;  at  last  my  father  entered  the  hop 
arbor.  He  looked  at  me  and  respected  my  sorrow. 

"  Poor  boy ! "  said  he,  "  God  has  visited  thee  grievously  ; 
trust  in  Him.  He  knows  always  what  He  does." 

I  rested  my  head  on  my  father's  breast,  and  for  some 
time  we  were  both  silent. 

"  Thou  wert  greatly  attached  to  her,"  said  my  father, 
after  a  while.  "So  tell  me,  if  I  were  to  say  to  thee, 
Give  her  thy  hand  for  a  lifetime,  what  wouldst  thou 
answer  ?" 

"  Father,"  replied  I,  "  love  may  fly  from  me,  but  honor 
never.  I  am  ready." 

My  father  kissed  me  heartily,  and  said,  — 

"  May  God  bless  thee !  I  recognize  thee,  but  it  is  not 
thy  duty,  not  thy  obligation ;  it  is  Selim's." 

"  Will  he  come  here  ? " 

"He  will  come  with  his  father.  His  father  knows 
everything  now." 

In  fact,  Selim  came  about  dusk.  When  he  saw  Hania, 
he  grew  red,  and  then  as  pale  as  linen.  For  a  while  a 
great  struggle  between  his  heart  and  his  conscience  was 
evident  on  his  face.  It  was  clear  that  from  him  too  that 
winged  bird,  whose  name  is  love,  had  flown. 

But  the  noble  youth  conquered  himself.  He  rose, 
stretched  out  his  arms,  fell  on  his  knees  before  Hania, 
and  cried,  — 

"  My  Hania !  I  am  always  the  same ;  I  will  never 
desert  thee,  —  never,  never  !  " 

Abundant  tears  were  flowing  down  Hania's  face ;  but 
she  pushed  Selim  away  gently. 

"  I  do  not  believe,  I  do  not  believe  that  it  is  possible  to 
love  me  now,"  said  she ;  then  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands,  she  cried,  — 

"  Oh,  how  kind  and  noble  you  all  are !   I  alone  am 


HAXIA.  167 

less  noble,  more  sinful;  but  now  all  is  ended.  I  am 
another  person." 

And  in  spite  of  the  insistence  of  the  old  Mirza,  in  spite 
of  Selim's  prayers,  she  refused  her  hand. 

The  first  storm  of  life  had  broken  that  beautiful  flower 
when  it  had  barely  opened.  Poor  girl !  She  needed  now 
after  the  tempest  some  holy  and  peaceful  harbor,  where 
she  could  pacify  her  conscience,  and  bring  her  heart 
to  rest. 

She  found  that  quiet  and  holy  harbor.  She  became  a 
Sister  of  Charity. 

Later  on,  new  events  and  one  terrible  storm  caused 
me  for  a  long  time  to  lose  sight  of  her.  But  after  a 
number  of  years  I  saw  her  unexpectedly.  Peace  and 
calm  were  depicted  on  those  angelic  features ;  all  traces 
of  the  terrible  disease  had  disappeared.  In  the  black 
robe  and  white  head-dress  of  the  cloister  she  was  beauti- 
ful as  never  before ;  but  it  was  a  beauty  not  of  earth, 
beauty  more  angelic  than  human. 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 


TARTAR   CAPTIVITY. 

FRAGMENTS  FROM  THE  CHRONICLE   OF  A  NOBLE, 
ALEXIS  ZDANOBARSKI. 


CHAPTEK    I. 

MY  attendant,  riding  in  advance,  or  following, 
thrummed  on  his  teorban,  while  sorrow  and 
longing  for  Marysia  pressed  my  heart;  and  the  farther 
I  went  the  more  ardently  I  loved  her.  Then  came  to 
my  mind  the  words,  post  equitem  sedet  atra  cura  (behind 
the  horseman  sits  dark  care).  But  if  in  the  great  de- 
crease of  my  fortune  I  had  spoken  with  his  serene  great 
mightiness,  Pan  Tvoryanski,  I  dared  not  mention  my 
feelings.  Nothing  was  left  me  but  to  win  a  fortune 
with  my  sword,  and  when  I  had  adorned  myself  with 
military  glory  to  stand  before  him.  Neither  God  nor 
my  Marysia  could  take  it  ill  of  me  that  I  did  not  make 
the  confession  to  Pan  Tvoryanski.  If  Marysia  had  com- 
manded me  to  spring  into  fire,  or  into  water,  or  simply 
to  shed  my  blood,  Thou,  O  Jesus  Christ,  who  lookest  into 
my  heart,  seest  that  I  would  have  done  so.  There  was 
one  thing,  however,  which  I  could  not  sacrifice,  even  for 
my  charming  maiden,  and  that  was  the  honor  of  a  noble. 
My  fortune  was  nothing ;  but  the  dignity  of  blood  is 
great,  and  from  my  ancestors  I  had  received  a  command, 
sacred  as  a  last  will,  to  remember  ever  that  my  life 


172  TARTAR   CAPTIVITY. 

was  my  own,  that  I  might  expose  it  to  peril,  but  integra 
rodu  l  dignitas  was  an  inheritance  from  my  ancestors, 
which  I  was  bound  to  hand  down  as  I  had  received  it, 
that  is,  integram.  0  God,  grant  eternal  rest  to  my  ances- 
tors, and  may  eternal  light  shine  on  them  for  the  ages 
of  ages  !  Even  had  his  serene  great  mightiness,  Tvory- 
anski,  consented  to  give  me  his  daughter,  I  had  no  place 
to  which  I  might  conduct  her.  If,  considering  the  scan- 
tiness of  my  fortune,  he,  in  his  pride,  had  called  me  a 
pauper,  or  simply  a  homespun,  I,  knowing  the  excellence 
of  my  family,  should  have  been  insulted  and  forced  to 
take  revenge  on  him,  which  may  God  not  permit,  since 
he  is  the  father  of  my  Marysia. 

Nothing  remained  but  to  go  to  the  frontier.  Of  trap- 
pings, girdles,  and  what  was  best  after  my  ancestors, 
some  I  pawned,  others  I  sold  and  received  three  hundred 
weighty  ducats,  which  I  gave  to  Tvoryanski  on  interest ; 
then,  taking  farewell  of  Marysia  with  tears  and  deep 
sighing,  I  prepared  for  the  road  during  the  night,  and 
next  morning  I  and  my  attendant  turned  our  horses' 
heads  eastward. 

The  journey  was  through  Zaslav  and  Bar  to  Haysynie. 
Stopping  now  at  a  castle,  now  at  a  mansion,  now  at  an 
inn,  we  came  at  last  to  Uman,  beyond  which  the  steppe 
was  open  before  us,  level,  rich,  silent.  My  attendant, 
riding  in  advance,  played  on  the  teorban  and  sang  songs. 
He  seemed  as  if  flying  before  me,  the  bird,  as  it  were, 
which  I  was  pursuing,  namely,  glory ;  and  behind  me  fol- 
lowed another  bird  ;  this  was  grief.  We  were  going  to  the 
stanitsa  called  Mohylna,  where  in  his  day  my  serene, 
great,  mighty  father  stood  on  guard  as  colonel  of  an 

1  This  word  is  the  genitive  of  the  Polish  word  rod,  "stock,"  or 
"  ancestry."  Integra  rodu  dignitas  means  "  the  unspotted  dignity  of 
ancestry." 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY.  173 

armored  squadron  which  he  at  his  own  cost  had  mounted 
for  war  with  the  Bisurmans.1 

It  was  very  far  to  Mohylna,  for,  praise  be  to  God,  the 
Commonwealth  has  spread  itself  over  the  earth  widely ; 
and,  besides,  we  had  to  travel  through  steppes,  on  which 
Tartars  and  various  other  ruffians  were  prowling  night 
and  day ;  a  man  had  to  guard  his  life  carefully. 

Along  the  road  I  marvelled  at  everything.  Since  that 
was  my  first  time  in  the  Ukraine,  I  saw  the  strangest 
deeds  and  strangest  things.  That  country  is  warlike ; 
there  the  common  man  too  is  more  resolute  and  daring 
than  with  us,  and  in  peasants  there  is  courage  of  which 
a  noble  would  not  be  ashamed.  When  you  pass  through 
a  settlement,  though  people  know  you  to  be  a  man  of 
birth,  they  hardly  raise  a  cap,  and  look  you  straight  in 
the  eyes.  In  every  cottage  there  is  a  sabre  and  a  musket, 
and  more  than  one  peasant  has  a  hatchet-headed  staff  in 
his  hand,  like  a  noble  in  another  place.  There  is  a  daring 
nature  in  these  people.  They  even  make  small  account 
of  commissioners  of  the  Commonwealth;  for  this  the 
sabre  has  punished  them  already,  and  will  punish  them 
more  in  the  future.  The  vicinity  of  pagans,  and  continual 
readiness  for  warfare,  has  developed  their  courage.  They 
cultivate  the  earth  not  too  willingly ;  and  if  any  one  wins 
profit  from  tillage,  he  prefers  to  settle  on  his  own  fields 
rather  than  on  those  of  a  master.  On  the  other  hand, 
they  join  escorts  of  nobles,  or  light  squadrons  of  the  Com- 
monwealth readily,  and  are  excellent  warriors,  especially 
in  scouting  and  skirmishing,  though  in  battle  non  cunc- 
tant  (they  are  not  slow).  They  raise  shouts,  and  go  at 
the  enemy  as  if  they  were  smoke,  cutting  and  thrusting. 
Each  of  their  settlements  is  more  like  a  tabor  than  a 
village ;  they  keep  multitudes  of  horses,  which  feed  win- 

1  Mussulmans. 


174  TARTAR   CAPTIVITY. 

ter  and  summer  in  the  steppes,  and  are  as  swift  as  those 
of  the  Tartars.  Many  of  these  people  betake  themselves 
also  to  the  islands  of  the  Dnieper,  and  there  at  the 
Saitch  lead  a  life  in  the  fashion  of  monks,  but  military 
and  quite  robber-like.  From  these  uncontrolled  actions 
our  dear  country  has  suffered  much,  and  will  suffer 
much  more  in  the  future,  till  it  tames  them.  It  would 
be  difficult  for  a  noble,  or  even  a  great  lord,  to  keep 
them  in  one  place ;  for  time  after  time  they  break  away 
to  empty  steppes,  of  which  in  those  regions  there  are 
many ;  they  settle  in  the  steppes  and  live  at  their  own 
will.  In  form  of  body,  and  in  manners,  they  are  different 
from  our  peasants ;  they  are  tall  and  strong,  dark  in  com- 
plexion, more  like  Tartars ;  their  mustaches  are  black, 
as  with  the  Wallachians ;  they  shave  their  heads  after 
the  fashion  of  pagans,  leaving  on  the  very  crown  only  a 
tuft,  thick  and  long. 

Seeing  and  considering  all  this,  I  wondered  greatly  at 
that  land  and  at  everything  in  it ;  and  as  I  have  called 
it  warlike,  I  repeat  now,  that  a  country  more  suited  to  an 
armed  and  mounted  people  it  would  be  vain  to  seek 
throughout  the  whole  earth.  When  some  of  these 
people  are  killed,  others  ride  in  from  all  sides  and  along 
every  road,  just  as  if  flocks  of  birds  were  flying  in ;  and 
throughout  that  wild  steppe  it  is  easier  to  hear  the 
sound  of  muskets,  the  clatter  of  sabres,  the  neighing  of 
horses,  the  fluttering  of  flags  in  the  wind,  and  the  shouts 
of  warriors,  than  the  lark  in  a  meadow. 

Old  minstrels,  greatly  honored  by  every  one,  go  about 
there  as  in  Podolia  and  Volynia,  These,  being  blind, 
play  on  lyres  and  sing  knightly  songs ;  these  minstrels 
cause  courage  and  love  of  glory  to  flourish  greatly.  War- 
riors in  those  regions,  seeing  that  they  live  to-day  and 
to-morrow  decay,  esteem  their  own  lives  as  a  broken 


TARTAR  CAFflVITY.  175 

copper,  and  spend  their  blood  as  a  magnate  spends  gold, 
caring  more  for  a  beautiful  death  than  for  life  and 
earthly  goods.  Others  love  war  above  everything,  and 
though  often  of  high  birth,  they  become  almost  wild  in 
continual  fighting,  and  go  to  battle  as  if  to  a  wedding, 
with  great  rejoicing  and  songs.  In  time  of  peace  they 
are  terribly  grieved  at  not  finding  an  outlet  for  war- 
like humors,  hence  they  are  dangerous  to  public  peace. 
These  men  are  called  "  the  desperate."  When  a  warrior 
is  killed,  all  count  that  an  ordinary  occurrence,  and  even 
his  nearest  friends  do  not  mourn  overmuch  for  him, 
saying  that  it  beseems  a  man  more  to  die  in  the  steppe, 
than  in  bed,  like  a  woman. 

Indeed,  in  that  land  is  the  best  school  and  practice  of 
knighthood.  When  a  young  regiment  has  passed  one 
year  or  two  in  a  stanitsa,  it  becomes  as  keen  as  a  Turkish 
sabre,  so  that  neither  German  cavalry  nor  Turkish  jan- 
issaries can  stand  before  its  fury  when  they  are  equal  in 
numbers ;  and  what  must  it  be  for  other  inferior  soldiers, 
as,  for  example,  the  Wallachians,  or  any  kind  of  hireling  ? 
It  is  easy  to  quarrel  in  the  steppe ;  and  this  should  be 
avoided,  for  the  whole  country  is  swarming  with  armed 
men. 

Advancing  with  my  attendant,  I  met  household  troops 
of  the  Pototskis,  the  Vishnyevetskis,  the  Kisiels,  the 
Zbaraskis,  in  various  uniforms,  black,  red,  and  many-col- 
ored,-  now  quota  troops  of  the  Commonwealth,  now  squad- 
rons of  the  king.  The  horses  of  these  warriors  advanced 
to  their  bellies  in  grass,  and  snorted  as  if  swimming  in 
water ;  captains  managed  the  squadrons,  as  shepherd  dogs 
tend  their  flocks ;  the  Cossacks  beat  kettle-drums,  blew 
their  horn  trumpets  and  fifes,  or  sang  songs,  making  so 
tremendous  an  uproar  that  when  they  had  passed  and 
disappeared  the  wind  brought  back  a  sound,  as  it  were,  of 


176  TARTAR  C  ACTIVITY. 

some  distant  storm.  At  intervals  moved  also  the  wagons 
of  bullock-drivers,  which  squeaked  shrilly ;  from  this 
squeaking  our  horses  were  frightened.  Some  of  those 
bullock-drivers  were  bringing  salt  from  the  Liman  at  the 
Euxine ;  others  were  returning  from  among  foul  pagans 
at  the  Palus  Maeotis,  or  from  Moscow ;  others  were  taking 
Moldavian  wine  to  the  Saitoh  ;  and  the  wagons  moved 
one  after  another  in  the  order  of  storks,  forming  lines  a 
mile  long  on  the  steppe. 

We  met  also  herds  of  oxen,  all  of  one  color,  gray,  with 
great  curving  horns.  Crowding  together,  they  moved  so 
closely  as  to  form  a  solid  mass,  their  horned  foreheads 
swaying  from  side  to  side. 

Beyond  the  stanitsa  Kiselova,  one  company  of  an 
important  hussar  regiment  met  us.  The  men  were  in 
full  equipment,  and  a  sound  went  from  their  wings,  as 
from  those  of  eagles.  My  attendant  and  I  could  not 
take  our  eyes  from  them,  though  it  was  difficult  to  look 
at  the  men,  for  the  eye  was  struck  by  a  terrible  glare  of 
sunlight  reflected  from  their  weapons;  the  gleams  from 
their  lance-points  raised  upward  were  like  flames  of  burn- 
ing candles  suspended  in  the  air.  But  the  hearts  rose  in 
us,  for  those  hussars  seemed  more  like  a  company  of 
kings  than  common  warriors,  such  was  the  auctoritas 
(authority)  in  them,  and  the  majesty  of  battle. 

Beyond  the  stanitsa  the  country  was  wilder.  Often  in 
the  steppe  we  saw  at  night  fires  of  Cossack  couriers  sent 
to  various  stanitsas,  or  even  of  peasants  who  were  fleeing 
to  the  steppe.  "We  did  not  approach  these,  since  we 
made  our  own  fires. 

At  times  strangers  came  to  us,  either  hungry  men,  or 
men  gone  astray  in  the  steppe ;  and  once  came  a  wonder- 
ful person  with  a  face  all  grown  over  with  hair,  like 
a  wolf's  face.  My  attendant  began  to  cry  out  with  fear 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY.  177 

when  he  saw  him  ;  and  I,  thinking  that  I  had  to  do  with 
a  werewolf  (wolf  man),  was  reaching  for  my  sabre  to 
slash  him.  When  that  monster  did  not  howl,  but  praised 
God,  I  would  not  touch  him.  The  unknown  said  that 
he  was  a  Tartar  by  descent,  but  a  Catholic.  I  wondered 
at  that,  for  the  Tartars  in  Lithuania  adhere  to  the  Koran. 
But  this  man  changed  his  faith  for  his  wife,  and,  serving 
later  as  a  flag-bearer  in  his  regiment,  was  sent  by  the 
Lithuanian  hetmans  with  a  letter  to  the  horde,  because 
he  knew  Tartar.  Still  it  was  hateful  to  my  man  to  sleep 
at  one  fire  with  him.  More  frequently  we  spent  the  night 
sleeping  in  turns,  or  not  sleeping  at  all,  so  as  to  keep 
watch  of  our  horses.  More  than  once  I  stretched  on  the 
grass  and  looked  at  the  twinkling  stars  of  the  sky,  think- 
ing in  my  soul  that  the  one  which  looked  on  me  most 
lovingly  was  Marysia.  In  my  grief  I  had  the  consolation 
of  knowing  that  that  little  star  would  never  shine  for 
another,  but  would  keep  faith  with  me,  since  it  had  a 
heart  that  was  honest,  and  a  soul  as  pure  as  a  tear  dropped 
in  prayer  before  God. 

At  times  Marysia  came  to  me  in  sleep,  just  as  if  living ; 
and  one  night  when  she  came  she  promised  to  pray  for 
me  and  to  fly  after  me  through  the  air,  like  a  swallow, 
and  if  she  grew  weary  she  would  rest  on  my  head,  and 
twitter  to  heaven  to  obtain  for  me  glory  and  happiness. 
Then  she  vanished  like  mist ;  and  when  I  woke  I  thought 
that  an  angel  had  been  near  me,  and  what  astonished  me 
also  wras  this,  that  the  horses  pricking  their  ears  snorted 
loudly,  as  if  they  had  felt  some  one  near  them.  Consider- 
ing such  apparitions  as  a  mark  of  God's  favor  and  encour- 
agement in  my  toil,  I  vowed  to  the  most  Holy  Mary  and 
to  Saint  Alexis,  my  patron,  never  to  stain  myself  with 
mortal  sin,  so  as  to  retain  their  favor  in  the  future  also. 
That  night  I  prayed  till  daylight,  or  till  the  time  of  start- 

12 


178  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

ing.  Generally  we  were  moving  on  the  road  before  sun- 
rise, which  in  those  regions  is  altogether  more  beautiful 
than  with  us;  for  when  the  first  rays  shoot  along  the 
plain  covered  with  dew  from  the  night  cold,  the  whole 
steppe,  because  of  the  myriads  of  flowers,  looks  like  bro- 
cade interwoven  with  pearls.  From  this  comes  joy  to 
all  creatures.  Partridges,  quails,  ptarmigans,  and  other 
birds  of  the  steppe,  shooting  along  through  the  grass, 
dash  those  pearls  down  to  the  earth. 

There  are  countless  myriads  of  birds  in  that  region. 
We  met  every  day  cunning  bustards  and  slender  storks. 
These  last  stand  on  the  ground,  stretching  upward  their 
long  necks,  like  spears,  and  keep  guard  in  order  around 
the  grave  mounds ;  but  when  they  fly  through  the  air, 
with  tremendous  outcry,  they  rise  to  such  heights  that 
the  eye  cannot  follow  them.  Bullock-drivers  respect 
these  birds  greatly ;  for  by  the  order  of  their  flying  they 
bring  the  holy  cross  to  one's  mind.  Warriors  too,  count- 
ing them  with  their  sabres,  predict  fortune  from  their 
number;  but,  according  to  my  reason,  this  has  nothing 
to  do  with  reality,  for  whatever  the  Lord  God  in  His 
mercy  intends  for  a  man,  He  will  give  anyhow.  Of  other 
birds  there  are  ravens,  crows,  hawks,  and  eagles.  These 
creatures  at  twilight  make  a  great  uproar,  now  sitting 
in  a  circle  on  some  mound,  now  breaking  out  without 
cause  in  a  rattling  and  croaking  so  immense  and  com- 
plaining that  there  is  need  to  shut  one's  ears. 

The  evening  twilights  are  far  redder  than  with  us. 
The  reason  of  this  is  that  pagans  shed  much  Christian 
blood  there ;  this  blood  goes  to  heaven  and  is  red,  cry- 
ing for  vengeance.  Grave  mounds  here  cover  the  whole 
country,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  and  in  them  are 
lying  knights  waiting  for  the  day  of  Judgment.  Some 
say  that  these  knights  are  only  sleeping,  and  will  wake 


TARTAR   CAPTIVITY.  179 

when  the  campaign  shall  be  heralded  of  all  Christian 
kings  against  the  pagan.  I  know  not  if  this  be  true ; 
but  I  think  that  it  may  happen,  for  everything  is  in  the 
power  of  God. 

This  is  a  land  of  warlike  people,  a  land  which  Poles, 
Cossacks,  and  Tartars,  in  continual  warfare,  have  trampled 
with  hoofs  of  horses,  one  chasing  another  in  arms.  And 
so  whole  generations  are  like  those  figures  which  appear 
and  disappear  in  a  holiday  puppet-show.  Many  good 
nobles  come  here  also  to  live.  They  bring  peasants  from 
the  Crown,  or,  finding  them  in  the  place,  begin  settle- 
ments; for  though  one  must  lead  a  life  in  continual 
fear  of  war,  the  Lord  God  has  given  such  courage  to 
our  people  that  dangers,  instead  of  frightening  them, 
are  rather  an  enticement.  In  fact,  when  a  noble  youth 
comes  to  years,  it  is  difficult  to  keep  him  at  home,  or  on 
the  school  bench,  for  he  is  tearing  away,  like  a  falcon, 
to  fly  to  the  border.  Many  a  one  loses  his  life  there; 
but  some  poor  boy  comes  out  a  lord,  as  have  many  whose 
children  live  now  in  their  castles,  keep  escorts,  and  enjoy 
senatorial  dignity  in  the  Commonwealth. 

It  is  in  accordance  with  God's  thought  for  a  knightly 
man  to  become  a  lord  from  war  and  from  land,  and  by 
settling  the  steppe  to  give  growth  to  the  Commonwealth. 
From  the  Masovians,  who  are  great  people  to  multiply, 
and  who  increase  like  bees  in  a  hive,  are  descended 
most  of  those  colonists.  They  cultivate  the  steppe  with 
ploughs,  and  become  agriculturists  readily ;  but  in  time  of 
war  they  go  in  a  body,  one  after  another,  all  willing  to 
die. 

Thinking  over  these  matters,  I  rejoiced  greatly ;  for  I 
understood  that  either  I  should  lie  down  in  battle,  —  for 
which  a  noble,  a  Christian  warrior  should  always  be 
ready,  —  and  receive  a  heavenly  crown,  or,  giving  notable 


130  TARTAR   CAPTIVITY. 

service  to  iny  country,  restore  to  its  former  splendor  my 
family,  and  delight  my  ancestors  in  paradise.  They,  too, 
came  to  fortune ;  not  by  lawsuits  at  courts,  or  by  uproars 
at  diets,  but  by  blood,  the  foundation  of  life ;  and  what 
they  received  they  received  from  the  Commonwealth,  and 
they  did  not  spare  it  on  behalf  of  the  Commonwealth. 
Thus  my  serene,  great,  mighty  grandfather  and  my  father, 
each  of  them,  fitted  out  a  regiment  for  war  against  the 
Bisurman.  May  God  grant  them  light  eternal  in  heaven, 
for  it  is  proper  that  a  fortune  which  came  with  the  sabre 
should  be  spent  on  the  sabre.  As  to  me,  though  my 
heart  aches  for  Marysia,  and  the  wind  whistles  through 
my  purse,  I  am  the  heir  of  a  glorious  name  and  great, 
noble  ambition,  owing  to  which  I  hear  at  night,  as  it 
were,  trumpets  and  voices  of  some  kind,  which  call  to 
me,  "  Preserve  thy  name  unspotted  ;  be  equal  to  thy 
fathers;  yield  not  to  evil!"  Thou,  0  God,  so  bless  me, 
that  I  shall  preserve  my  name,  and  be  equal  to  my 
fathers!  I  will  break  before  I  bend. 

And  I  proposed  to  myself  that  if  God  would  grant  me 
to  await  a  time  of  fortune,  and  go  for  Marysia,  I  would  go, 
not  in  ticking,  but  in  brocade,  not  in  a  torn  cap,  but  in 
ostrich  plumes,  not  with  one  attendant,  but  with  an 
escort  and  with  a  baton  in  my  hand,  as  a  lord  for  a  lord's 
daughter,  as  a  great  knight  for  a  senator's  child.  And 
then,  without  detriment  to  family  honor,  I  would  fall  at 
the  feet  of  Tvoryanski,  for  I  should  bow  to  him,  not  as 
to  a  lord  for  a  fortune,  but  as  to  a  father  for  his  daughter. 
In  poverty  I  should  have  consented  to  yield  her,  even 
though  my  soul  were  rent ;  for  if  through  love  I  hope  to 
make  her  my  wife,  I  hope  in  wealth  to  blow  the  dust 
from  before  her  dear  feet,  not  that  they  should  be  bare 
and  bleeding  on  life's  thorny  path. 

Better  courage  entered  my  heart  in  proportion  as  I  let 


TARTAR   CAPTIVITY.  181 

myself  deeper  into  the  steppe  with  my  attendant.  It  is 
sad  in  that  steppe,  for  it  is  empty ;  but  it  is  so  spacious 
there  that  it  seems  to  a  man  that  he  is  yonder  eagle  or 
hawk.  The  grass  comes  higher  and  higher  along  the 
sides  of  the  horses,  as  if  it  were  greeting  you  with  honor; 
and  while  making  a  great  rustling  it  seems  to  say,  "  Wel- 
come, 0  warrior  of  God!"  The  farther,  however,  the 
more  dangerous,  for  Mohylna  is  the  last  Christian  watch- 
tower;  the  warrior  there  takes  holy  communion  daily, 
so  as  to  be  ready  for  death  at  all  hours. 

The  Tartars,  now  in  large  parties,  now  singly,  circle 
around  that  stanitsa,  though  when  a  larger  number  comes, 
an  experienced  man  knows  it  easily,  as  in  the  night  the 
wolves  howl  behind  them  tremendously ;  for  when  a 
great  camp  of  them  moves,  whole  flocks  of  wolves  follow, 
knowing  that  in  the  track  of  it  they  will  find  carrion 
enough,  both  of  them  and  their  horses.  Others  are  of 
opinion,  however,  that  wolves  do  not  eat  Tartar  flesh, 
being  friends  of  the  Tartars,  who,  because  of  their  greed 
and  foul  paganism,  may  well  be  compared  with  wild 
beasts. 

But  while  prowling  around,  dreadful  things  too  meet 
the  Tartars  ;  for  when  Cossacks  stationed  near  the  armored 
squadron  of  the  stanitsa  catch  one  of  those  pagans,  they 
have  no  pity,  and  commit  terrible  cruelties. 

One  night,  I  saw  a  great  fire  in  the  steppe,  and  people 
around  it.  I  went  toward  the  place  with  my  attendant, 
wishing  to  see  who  were  there,  and  if  God  would  grant 
me  to  let  fly  a  few  arrows  among  them.  But  they  were 
only  Cossacks  from  the  stanitsa,  who  had  made  a  great 
fire,  and  were  throwing  bound  Tartars  into  it  alive,  hurl- 
ing each  one  as  if  he  were  a  sack.  The  Tartars  called  on 
their  Allah  in  vain.  From  those  who  were  roasted  a 
strong  odor  went  out ;  and  the  Cossacks,  dancing  around 


182  TARTAR   CAPTIVITY. 

the  fire  like  evil  spirits,  gave  themselves  up  to  delight 
I  gave  command  at  once  to  leave  off  this  work,  and  slay 
the  prisoners  simply  with  sabres,  as  was  proper ;  to  this 
they  answered,  — 

"  Be  off,  or  the  same  thing  will  happen  to  thee  ! " 
When  they  learned  that  I  was  a  noble,  they  removed 
their  caps ;  and  hearing  that  I  was  going  to  the  colonel  to 
serve,  they  offered  to  conduct  me  to  the  station.  We 
went,  then,  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  in  their  company, 
and  without  adventure ;  but  on  the  road  I  saw  one  wonder 
more.  At  a  certain  place  the  steppe  was  covered  com- 
pletely with  glittering  insects,  like  those  which  about 
Saint  John's  day  appear  with  us,  but  not  in  such  num- 
bers. These  glittered  in  the  darkness  throughout  the 
grass  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  so  that  you  might  say 
that  a  part  of  the  sky  with  the  stars  had  fallen,  and  was 
lying  on  the  earth.  Only  at  dawn  did  those  little  stars 
cease  to  gleam ;  it  was  not  far  then  to  the  stanitsa,  as 
was  shown  by  the  crowing  of  cocks,  of  which  there  are 
many,  for  the  soldiers  love  their  shrill  crowing,  and  keep 
a  great  number  of  them.  Soon  after,  when  the  air  be- 
came clearer,  we  saw  in  the  morning  dawn  several  well- 
sweeps  ;  the  wind  bore  to  us  barking  of  dogs  and  neighing 
of  horses.  When  nearer  still  to  the  stockade,  I  heard 
the  song,  "  Salve  janua  salutis,"  which  went  out  over  the 
dew,  and  was  very  loud,  for  three  hundred  men  were 
singing  it,  kneeling  on  the  square  beneath  the  open  sky. 
When  I  reached  the  stanitsa,  I  went  at  once  to  the 
serene,  great,  mighty  Peter  Koshyts,  a  rich  nobleman  from 
Lithuania,  and  a  warrior  of  experience,  who  was  colonel 
there.  He  had  been  so  hacked  in  long  campaigning  that 
men  said  that  pagans  had  written  out  the  whole  Koran 
on  his  face  with  their  sabres.  He  was  a  knight  accus- 
tomed to  every  trick  of  war,  and  had  served  the  Common- 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY.  183 

wealth  greatly.  Having  known  my  father,  he  received 
me  as  if  I  had  been  his  own  son,  and  inscribed  me  that 
very  day  in  the  regiment.  Others  told  me  later  that  I 
had  come  in  good  season,  for  the  locusts  would  soon 
swarm  from  the  Crimea.  In  fact,  I  learned  that  there  was 
great  fear,  and  the  alarm  was  sounded  in  every  stanitsa ; 
the  knighthood  was  kept  in  utmost  watchfulness. 


CHAPTEE   II. 

WE  advanced,  as  usual,  without  baggage  ;  for  a  Tartar 
detachment  can  be  overtaken  only  in  that  way. 
At  three  in  the  afternoon,  we  came  to  an  elevation,  called 
the  Pagan  Tombs ;  and  by  a  lucky  chance  for  us,  the  fog, 
which  since  morning  had  covered  all  the  steppe,  dropped 
down  on  a  sudden.  Though  we  could  not  see  the  Tartar 
camp  itself,  we  knew  from  noise  and  the  bellowing  of 
cattle  which  came  out  of  the  fog,  that  it  was  not  far 
distant.  The  Cossacks  sent  forward  on  reconnoissance, 
stole  up  to  the  very  wagons,  seized  some  prisoners  with 
lariats,  and  brought  them  in  so  badly  beaten  and  terri- 
fied that,  though  put  to  torture  at  once,  blood  came  from 
their  mouths  instead  of  words.  Our  voevoda  learned 
from  them,  however,  that  that  camp  was  the  main  one ; 
that  the  Khan's  brother  was  there  present,  with  many 
considerable  Murzas ;  and  that,  excluding  Tartars  who 
had  care  of  extra  horses,  wagons,  prisoners,  and  the  wagon 
train,  those  who  could  be  employed  in  battle  were  only 
four  times  greater  in  number  than  our  troops. 

When  he  had  heard  this,  the  voevoda  began  to  draw  us 
up  on  those  heights  in  order  of  battle.  Delight  entered 
our  hearts,  for  we  saw  that  in  the  proportion  and  num- 
ber of  only  four  to  one  the  Tartars  could  not  withstand 


184  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

our  impetus ;  since  the  tabor,  and  the  great  number  of 
slow  cattle,  hindered  their  retreat,  they  could  not  flee 
from  our  sabres. 

They  knew  too  well  of  our  presence,  and,  having  no 
escape,  began  also  to  make  ready  for  battle,  in  their  own 
way ;  this  we  knew  at  once  by  the  sound  of  their  great 
drum,  which  they  call  "  bait,"  and  which  they  consider 
sacred,  obeying  its  voice  in  all  things. 

All  at  once  the  fog  thinned  so  much  that  most  of  the 
horse-tail  standards  were  visible  ;  and  next  it  disappeared 
altogether.  We  saw  black  swarms  of  pagandom, — horse 
at  the  side  of  horse,  and  man  near  man,  standing  in  a 
dense  mass  in  the  form  of  a  sickle.  From  out  this  mass 
skirmishers  began  to  break  away  in  flocks,  and  race  off  in 
various  directions.  Some  of  them  rushed  right  up  to  our 
squadrons,  jeering  at  us,  shouting  terribly,  waving  their 
hands,  and  challenging  all  who  were  ready  for  single 
combat.  But  the  voevoda  permitted  only  Cossacks  to 
go ;  he  wished  to  bring  the  line  into  perfect  order,  which 
was  done  quickly,  since  he  was  an  old  warrior,  experienced 
and  very  strict. 

Standing  in  readiness  for  battle,  we  looked  at  the 
skirmishing  and  the  wonderful  work  of  the  Cossacks, 
who  know  best  how  to  manage  duels  with  those  vermin. 
They  chased  then  for  prisoners,  and  also  to  kill;  but 
though  we  watched  intently  to  see  the  first  body  fall 
headlong,  we  could  not  distinguish  it,  for  numbers  fell 
together  on  both  sides.  The  old  essaul  of  the  Cossacks 
dragged  to  the  very  feet  of  the  voevoda  a  Murza;  but 
he  was  strangled,  for  he  had  dragged  him  six  furlongs, 
and  his  face  was  all  torn  by  prickly  plants  of  the  steppe. 
We  took  that,  however,  as  a  good  omen  ;  and  the  voevoda, 
who  was  hurried,  gave  command  to  strike  up  with  drum 
and  trumpet,  and  shouted,  — 


TARTAR   CAPTIVITY.  185 

"  Begin  !  begin  I " 

The  horde  answered  with  a  tremendous  uproar ;  hearing 
these  sounds,  the  skirmishers  vanished  at  once  from  the 
field,  on  which  the  hussars  had  to  meet  now,  as  usual, 
the  entire  strength  of  the  enemy. 

The  whole  army  stood,  as  has  been  said,  on  the  height, 
ready  to  rush  directly  on  the  pagan ;  but  it  pleased  the 
courage  of  the  voevoda  to  let  off  in  advance,  according  to 
old  usage,  one  squadron,  like  a  falcon  from  the  hoop,  so 
that  by  breaking  everything  on  its  path  it  might  spread 
dismay  and  disorder  in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy. 

We  saw  that  squadron  moving  under  the  lead  of 
Babski,  as  clearly  as  a  thing  on  the  palm  of  the  hand, 
since  in  going  down  gradually  from  the  height  it  ad- 
vanced right  there  close  to  us.  When  they  had  passed 
the  slope,  the  horses  acquired  the  highest  speed,  and 
the  ground  bent  beneath  them,  the  hussars,  leaning  for- 
ward in  their  saddles,  lowered  their  lances.  The  air 
groaned  loudly,  and  such  a  strong  wind  from  them  struck 
us  that  the  plumes  on  our  helmets  were  fluttering.  So 
they  went  forward  with  a  noise  from  their  wings,  and  the 
streamers  on  their  lances,  just  like  a  storm ;  and  it  was 
clear  that  whatever  opposed  them  would  be  rubbed  out 
of  existence. 

The  captains  had  received  command  to  give  no  succor 
till  that  squadron  had  cut  a  road  to  the  rear  through 
the  pagans.  We  gazed  on  them  well,  for  they  ran  about 
five  furlongs,  and,  since  they  went  on  grass,  the  dust  was 
not  great.  In  our  squadron,  which  stood  motionless, 
there  was  such  silence  that  the  buzzing  of  horse-flies  and 
gnats  could  be  heard.  Each  man  was  straining  his  eyes 
out  after  the  advancing  squadron ;  at  times  a  horse 
neighed,  or,  smelling  blood,  stretched  his  neck  and,  open- 
ing his  nostrils,  groaned  plaintively. 


186  TARTAR   CAPTIVITY. 

In  the  Tartar  camp  no  small  uproar  set  in  among  the 
pagans  ;  they  raised  the  shout,  "  Allah  !  Allah  !  "  and 
soon  a  cloud  of  arrows,  dense  as  ram,  struck  the  hussars, 
rattling  on  their  mail  harness.  Then  came  the  cry, 
"  Jesus,  Mary ! "  which  was  a  sign  that  ours  would  be 
there  soon  with  their  lances.  Indeed,  with  God's  help, 
they  arrived  and  struck  with  such  impetus  that  the 
pagans  opened  in  two  halves,  like  a  log  when  a  wedge  has 
split  it.  They  went  through  the  middle,  as  if  on  a  street. 
Then  that  street  closed  behind  them,  and  the  throng  hid 
them  completely ;  we  saw  only  a  terrible  seething,  some- 
times a  helmet  gleamed,  and  sometimes,  when  a  horse 
reared  under  a  man,  we  saw  an  armed  hand ;  then  again 
a  streamer  flew  into  the  air,  like  a  bird,  and  dropped 
down. 

On  the  square  of  the  Tartar  camp,  where  there  was  no 
grass,  a  terrible  dust  rose,  in  which  there  was  a  struggling 
and  a  boiling.  The  rattle  of  muskets,  the  terrible  uproar, 
and  the  shouts  almost  split  our  ears.  On  our  side  mur- 
murs began  to  go  about  through  the  squadron,  for  it  was 
difficult  to  remain  in  one  place.  Men  were  re^dy  to  rush 
forward  ;  horses  were  rearing. 

We  began  to  repeat  the  litany  for  the  dying;  while 
doing  so,  a  certain  noble  youth,  instead  of  saying,  "  Lord, 
have  mercy  on  them  ! "  cried,  "  I  see  another  streamer ! " 
Then  the  warriors  cried  in  one  voice  for  permission  to 
rush  after  the  others. 

A  great  and  unrestrained  enthusiasm  seized  every  rank. 
Sparks  flashed  from  the  eyes  of  some ;  others,  from  desire 
for  pagan  blood,  were  as  flushed  as  blushing  maidens ; 
still  others,  who  were  younger,  shed  abundant  tears,  and, 
stretching  their  hands  upward,  cried,  "  Let  us  go  to  help 
our  brothers." 

But  the  colonel  commanded  great  silence  threateningly, 


TARTAR   CAPTIVITY.  187 

and  said,  "  It  is  not  proper  for  knights  to  strike  without 
command,  like  some  kind  of  militia,  and  spoil  the  patience 
of  knighthood  with  too  great  eagerness.  If  any  man  stirs, 
he  '11  be  dragged  at  a  horse's  tail ! " 

We  looked  now  in  silence  at  those  who  were  perishing, 
and  at  the  whole  Tartar  camp,  which,  like  a  gigantic  ser- 
pent with  iron  in  its  entrails,  was  twisting  and  squirming 
from  pain,  wishing  to  smother  that  squadron  which  had 
fastened  into  its  body. 

Meanwhile  the  sun  had  gone  down  ;  the  redness  of  even- 
ing was  in  the  sky.  But  there  was  no  longer  need  to 
await  the  command,  for  suddenly  the  second  squadron 
was  sent  rushing  after  the  first,  carrying  with  it  destruc- 
tion, after  that  went  the  third  and  the  fourth.  Under  this 
avalanche  of  armed  men  and  horses  the  camp  began  to 
waver,  and  it  was  clear  that  the  foul  Mohammed  would 
fall  in  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  Mary  most  pure. 

Meanwhile  the  cannon,  of  which  six  pieces  were  drawn 
up  just  behind  us,  began  to  act  with  weight  and  majesty, 
breaking  the  ends  of  the  camp  with  their  balls.  The  cap- 
tains on  our  side,  according  to  old  custom,  rolled  up  their 
sleeves,  and  shook  their  batons  very  fiercely ;  the  rage  of 
battle  rose  to  our  heads  like  wine.  One  and  another  man 
cried  out  the  name  of  his  patron ;  and  we  heard  continu- 
ally :  "  Saint  Peter !  Saint  John  !  Saint  Matthew ! "  Some, 
neglecting  the  saints,  shouted,  "  Strike  !  kill ! "  I,  sinful 
servant  of  God,  began  an  ardent  prayer,  and  when  I  had 
finished  and  raised  my  thoughts  to  Mary,  a  miracle  hap- 
pened to  me,  for  all  at  once  a  pretty  little  swallow,  flying 
around  above  our  heads,  settled  on  mine  and,  clapping 
its  wings,  began  to  repeat,  "  Tsivit ! "  just  as  if  praying  for 
me.  Hence  such  a  power  entered  my  bones  that  the  hair 
was  rising  under  my  helmet. 

The  moment  had   come  !      An  orderly  rushed  to  us 


188  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

from  the  voevoda  and  waved  the  bunchuk  standard  ;  then 
the  captains  hurried  to  the  ranks ;  the  colonel  cried,  "  In 
God's  name,  slay  the  dog-brothers  ! " 

Our  horses  rose  on  their  haunches,  and  next  moment 
the  wind  whistled  in  our  ears. 

We  struck  the  pagans  fiercely ;  unable  to  stop  us, 
they  fell,  like  grain-stalks  trampled  under  hoofs.  We 
overturned  men,  horses,  tents,  pickets.  The  roaring  of 
cannon  outsounded  the  crash  of  breaking  lances.  Horses 
whined.  In  the  crush,  after  the  breaking  of  the  lances, 
when  new  legions  fell  on  us,  it  came  to  sabres  and  two- 
handed  swords.  More  than  one  man  fought  with  the 
stump  of  his  sabre,  or  drove  the  soul  out  of  a  body  with 
armed  fist.  Feathers  flew  into  the  air  from  the  wings  and 
the  helmets  of  hussars.  The  air,  hot  from  the  meeting  of 
men  and  horses,  stopped  the  breath  in  the  throats  of  the 
combatants. 

Now  hoarse  shouts  rose,  the  groan  of  trampled  men,  a 
whining,  a  whistling  of  sabres  and  arrows.  The  pagans 
gave  a  ferocious  resistance ;  but  they  had  become  weak ; 
they  were  falling  ever  more  thickly,  and  terror  began  to 
seize  hold  of  them.  In  the  uproar  and  in  blindness  they 
could  not  see  whither  to  flee ;  therefore,  howling,  and 
shielding  their  faces  with  their  arms,  they  died  under 
sword  blows.  Horses,  with  their  riders,  crushed  down  in 
the  furious  onset,  formed  quivering  piles,  and  we  rushed 
over  those  bodies  slippery  with  blood,  cutting  through 
the  crowd  to  the  wagons,  from  which  were  heard  the 
lament  of  prisoners,  the  shrill  cry  of  women,  and  a  calling 
to  Heaven. 

The  slaughter  continued  in  darkness,  until  a  flame 
rose  from  wagons,  which  the  Cossacks  had  fired.  Smoke 
and  sparks  burst  forth  in  rolls,  and  in  those  sparks  and 
that  smoke  the  cattle  in  the  tabor  filled  the  air  with  sad 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY.  189 

bellowing.  Then,  when  the  tabor  was  broken,  oxen, 
sheep,  goats,  riderless  horses,  and  camels,  wild  from  terror, 
rushed  like  a  hurricane  over  the  steppe. 

The  greatest  disorder  rose  at  the  wagons.  Some  seized 
plunder  in  the  uproar ;  others  cut  the  bonds  of  captives 
who,  feeling  their  hands  free,  broke  the  burning  wagons 
and  struck  the  enemy  with  flaming  brands.  The  sobbing 
of  women  roused  greater  rage  in  the  soldiers,  so  that  even 
those  who  fell  on  their  faces  and  stretched  their  hands 
out  for  fetters  died  beneath  the  sword. 

Considerable  detachments  which  could  not  break  from 
the  tabor,  though  they  howled,  imploring  mercy,  were 
cut  to  pieces.  After  those  who  fled  from  defeat  went 
pursuers,  and  with  them  I  hurried  forward.  Whole 
crowds  fled  before  one  man ;  hands  grew  weary  with 
hewing ;  feet  slipped  in  blood ;  the  breath  stopped  in  the 
breasts  of  horses.  In  the  darkness  we  cut  at  random. 
At  last  the  horse  under  me,  throwing  blood  from  his 
mouth,  fell  on  the  grass;  next  moment  a  dream,  as  it 
were,  seized  me,  for  blood  gushed  from  me  in  a  stream. 
I  sat  down  to  commend  myself  to  Grod,  or  the  most  holy 
Lady,  when  the  steppe  went  around,  the  bright  stars 
began  to  dance  in  the  sky,  and  I  fainted. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  PAGAN,  according  to  our  language,  is  a  beast  as 
it  were,  or  an  unclean  dog ;  for  what  is  unclean 
among  men  is  displeasing  to  God.  And  though  the  Bis- 
urmans  call  themselves  better  than  Christians,  in  the 
depth  of  their  conscience  they  know  their  uncleanness 
and  strive  eagerly  to  wash  it  away,  pouring  water  on 
their  members  seven  times  daily ;  they  would  have  no 


190  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

need  to  do  this,  of  course,  were  they  less  hardened  in 
sin.  With  no  people  is  captivity  so  grievous,  because 
of  their  cruelty,  and  because  there  are  neither  churches 
nor  Catholic  priests  in  the  midst  of  them.  If  a  prisoner 
falls  into  mortal  sin,  being  unable  to  find  absolution  at 
death,  he  may  be  damned  easily.  They  treat  prisoners 
with  cruelty,  too,  as  is  shown  by  what  I  suffered.  They 
have  a  festival  which  they  call  "  Bimekbairon,"  before 
which  they  fast  a  whole  month.  To  conceal  his  own 
vileness  with  appearances  of  justice,  Mohammed,  their 
prophet,  commanded  them  to  shorten  on  this  day  the 
period  of  captivity  for  prisoners,  to  give  freedom  to  those 
who  have  served  out  their  time,  and  declare  to  all  others 
how  long  they  must  serve  in  the  future,  and  besides 
keep  their  promises  under  oath.  The  oath  must  be  ut- 
tered two  hours  after  midnight,  when  their  priest  is  on 
the  tower,  or,  if  there  is  no  tower,  when  he  goes  out  on  a 
mound  and  begins  to  cry  with  his  fingers  in  his  ears : 
Lai  Lacha  i  Lalach  Mohammed  Rossulach  esse  de  Miellai, 
Lala  i  Lalach  !  They  swear  then  on  books  called  Hamaeli, 
at  the  bottom  of  which  is  depicted  the  sabre  of  Ali,  the 
assistant  of  Mohammed,  —  this  sabre  they  call  Delfikari. 
If  they  swear  on  one  of  these  volumes  to  any  one,  they 
will  keep  the  oath  surely;  but  they  are  so  skilled  in 
deceit,  that  they  deceive  not  only  their  captives  but  their 
god,  by  swearing  on  books  made  of  Venetian  soap.  Such 
an  oath,  they  say,  will  be  washed  away  by  the  first  rain 
that  comes,  hence  it  is  not  possible  to  believe  them. 

They  sell  prisoners  into  Asia,  which  is  quite  another 
part  of  the  world ;  those  who  remain  behind,  they  send 
to  herd  flocks ;  when  at  work  they  beat  these  with 
raw-hides,  and  kill  them  with  hunger.  Being  fond  of 
idleness  themselves,  they  barely  rise  up  to  perform  ablu- 
tions ;  and  for  the  rest  of  the  day  sit  on  horse-skulls 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY.  191 

covered  with  carpets,  hold  their  hands  idly  across  their 
stomachs,  bend  now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left.  But 
they  are  very  fond  of  music  and  the  sound  of  flutes, 
and  sit  listening  whole  days  to  whistles.  Putting  two 
of  these  whistles  in  the  mouth,  they  play  on  them,  fin- 
gering as  on  a  flute.  Besides,  they  have  drums  covered 
with  horsehide,  cymbals,  bronze  disks  which  make  a  great 
clatter,  and  long  staffs  ornamented  with  horse  manes  and 
covered  with  little  bells.  When  they  play  on  these  in- 
struments, such  a  din  rises  that  the  dogs  howl ;  but  they 
themselves  are  delighted,  and  say  that  sweetness  comes 
to  their  ears  from  the  noise,  and  that  various  diseases 
fly  away  before  those  voices. 

There  is  great  drunkenness  among  the  Tartars,  for 
though  not  free  to  drink  wine,  they  fill  themselves  with 
mare's  milk  fermented,  which  goes  to  the  head  more  than 
wine.  And  then  being  angry  and  cruel,  they  kill  prison- 
ers, after  they  have  tortured  them. 

Of  Christian  nations  the  Genoese  and  Venetians  visit 
them  in  ships,  and  deal  in  various  places  which  were 
built  by  the  ancients,  that  is,  the  Greeks.  These  Chris- 
tians bring,  above  all,  parchment  lamps  of  various  colors, 
which  the  Tartars  fill  with  mutton  fat;  then  lighting 
these  lamps,  they  hang  them  on  graves  and  mosques  in 
endless  number,  and  burn  incense.  These  lights,  white, 
rosy,  green,  and  blue,  seem  suspended  in  the  night  air, 
and  afford  a  wonderful  spectacle,  which,  were  it  turned 
to  God's  praise,  might  delight  every  eye.  But  just  at 
that  time  they  permit  the  greatest  vileness. 

Their  priests  are  also  sorcerers,  and  communicate  with 
evil  spirits.  When  the  Tartars  go  to  rob  and  plunder, 
these  priests  make  the  nights  dark  for  them,  and  raise 
great  fogs  in  the  daytime,  so  that  their  camp  may  escape 
pursuit. 


192  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

There  are  not  so  many  people  at  Perekop,  and  in 
the  whole  Chersonesus,  as  we  in  the  Commonwealth 
imagine ;  but  all  are  employed  in  warfare,  not  merely 
the  nobles.  They  are  very  enduring  of  hunger,  cold,  and 
toil,  for  from  youth  they  go  naked,  from  which  cause 
their  skin  becomes  black.  In  battle,  they  cannot  stand 
before  armed  men,  therefore  their  warfare  consists  more 
in  stratagem  than  bravery,  and  in  attacking,  seizing,  and 
escaping  with  all  speed.  Especially  at  sight  of  armored 
men  they  lose  heart,  saying  that  there  is  no  power  even 
in  sorcery  to  stop  their  impetus.  Any  hussar  squadron 
will  destroy  in  battle  with  the  Tartars  four  or  five  times 
its  own  number.  They  have  less  fear  of  death  than  of 
captivity  among  Cossacks;  but  for  them  it  is  easier  to 
meet  the  Cossack  than  it  is  to  meet  us.  I  think  that 
the  Commonwealth,  if  so  minded,  might  easily  conquer 
the  whole  Crimea,  if  we  were  in  alliance  with  Venice, 
which  would  send  its  fleet  to  the  Euxine,  and  thus  not 
let  the  Turks  come  with  assistance.  But  there  are 
people,  it  seems,  among  us  who  prefer  skirmishing  on 
the  steppes  to  the  safety  of  the  Commonwealth ;  such 
men  would  not  be  glad  should  this  happen.  God  en- 
lighten them  in  their  blindness. 

The  mode  of  living  and  manners  of  the  Tartars  are 
beastly ;  and  with  their  management,  or  rather  indo- 
lence, they  would  die  of  hunger  were  it  not  for  rob- 
bery, which  brings  them  great  riches.  To  robbery  they 
owe  the  wealth  which  I  saw  among  them :  such  as 
countless  herds  of  cattle,  fat  sheep,  playful  goats,  swift 
horses,  and  camels.  Under  tents,  or  in  straggling  stone 
villages,  some  keep  their  gold  brocade,  belts,  horse  trap- 
pings, goblets,  carpets,  inlaid  weapons,  spices,  and  per- 
fumes, all  piled  in  heaps,  without  order.  They  make  no 
use  of  these  treasures,  fearing  that  they  might  have 


TARTAR   CAPTIVITY.  193 

to  give  the  Khan  some  of  them,  or  some  to  the  Turks 
to  whom  they  are  subject.  They  go  about  in  coats  of 
sheep-skin  with  the  wool  outside.  But  what  any  one 
has  he  hides,  and  says  that  he  is  rich,  for  which  reason 
others  respect  him.  Of  towns  built  by  them  I  have  not 
heard ;  but  those  which  exist  are  from  remote  periods. 
The  Chersonesus  was  densely  inhabited  of  old,  until  its 
towns  and  inhabitants  were  destroyed  by  various  pagans. 
Still  certain  places  have  remained  rather  large  and  very 
beautiful ;  but  the  inhabitants  lead  a  barbarous  life,  just 
as  in  filthy  camping  places. 

They  took  me,  with  a  number  of  others,  to  a  certain 
settlement  called  Kizlich,  at  the  very  shore  of  the 
Euxine,  where  a  small  salt  stream  trickles  into  deep 
water.  Houses  there  are  built  from  the  ruins  of  a  city 
destroyed,  as  those  people  say,  by  Sauromati.  But  some 
of  the  buildings  are  beautiful  though  much  broken.  In 
old  times  there  were  temples ;  into  these  now  the  Tartars 
drive  sheep  and  horses  at  night;  only  one  have  they 
turned  into  a  mosque. 

They  dig  from  the  ground  too  at  times  stone  figures 
formed  as  skilfully  as  if  they  were  living.  Tartar  chil- 
dren sit  on  the  heads  of  these,  or  break  their  limbs 
with  stones.  Those  children  also  threw  dust  and  dirt 
at  me,  and  called  me  "  Gaur  !  gaur  !"  But  I  endured  that 
patiently,  all  the  more  since  Aga  Sukymari,  which  in 
our  speech  means  Solomon,  is  prcefectus  of  this  town; 
he  it  was  who  found  me  in  a  faint  and  took  me  captive. 
At  first  he  treated  me  decently.  He  did  this  because, 
finding  handsome  armor  on  my  body,  and  an  inlaid  sabre, 
he  considered  me  a  notable  person  and  expected  a  large 
ransom. 

I,  thinking  it  improper  for  a  noble  even  in  captivity  to 
dissimulate,  denied  out  of  hand.  I  told  him  that  though 

13 


194  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

of  distinguished  family  I  had  no  fortune,  and  that  no 
one  would  come  for  me  with  ransom.  Not  believing  this, 
he,  in  his  cunning,  said  to  me  in  Eussian,  — 

"  Oh,  you  Poles  !  each  man  of  you  calls  himself  a  poor 
fellow,  and  does  not  promise  ransom,  so  that  he  may 
be  put  to  death ;  for  this  you  promise  yourselves  great 
delight  in  heaven  from  your  God." 

He  did  not  sell  me  into  Asia,  like  many  others ;  and 
having  almost  perfect  liberty,  I  went  daily  to  the  sea- 
shore. There,  sitting  on  the  rocks,  I  gazed  into  the 
distance  of  the  water,  which  was  as  blue  as  turquoise, 
and  gave  rein  to  my  thoughts.  Ofttimes  I  cried  bitterly ; 
for  well  I  understood  that  my  fate  was  settled  by  mis- 
fortune now,  and  sealed.  I  could  not  think  of  knightly 
service  to  the  country,  nor  of  glory,  nor  Marysia.  Hence 
sadness  seized  my  soul ;  suffering  gnawed  into  my  heart ; 
and  there  came  on  me  terrible  yearning  for  the  Com- 
monwealth, and  all  that  I  had  lost  in  it.  I  would  rather 
not  have  come  into  the  world,  I  would  rather  have 
perished  in  battle,  I  would  rather  Sukyman  had  given 
me  to  torture  at  once,  for  then  at  least  I  should  have 
received  the  palm,  and  seen  with  the  eyes  of  my  spirit 
that  which  I  yearned  for  in  my  body.  In  pain  I  saw 
not  the  end  of  my  suffering. 

Every  Friday,  which  is  Sunday  for  the  Tartars,  when 
other  prisoners  had  rest  from  their  labors,  we  sat  at  the 
stream,  and,  helping  one  another  to  weep,  we  often  sang 
the  psalm :  Super  flumina  Babylonis.  Thus  the  day 
passed  for  us  in  remembering  and  speaking  of  our 
country,  and  from  this  our  souls  received  no  little 
solace.  It  happened  that  among  the  prisoners  who  bore 
the  yoke  of  captivity  in  Kizlich  I  was  the  only  noble; 
hence  I  exercised  a  certain  rule  over  the  others  ;  I  strength- 
ened their  spirit,  so  that  not  one  might  be  found  who 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY.  195 

should  wish  to  lighten  his  misfortune  by  deserting  the 
true  faith.  In  fact,  God  did  not  permit  that. 

Having  among  the  Tartars  importance  by  reason  of 
the  expected  ransom,  I  tried  to  bring  some  relief  to 
other  captives.  Sometimes  I  succeeded  in  giving  part 
of  my  food  to  the  hungriest ;  sometimes  I  helped  them  in 
their  labor.  I  carried  water  to  the  thirsty,  not  making 
it  a  discredit  to  myself;  for  if  the  Lord  Jesus  made 
common  people  inferior  in  birth  and  blood,  He  promised 
them  a  crown  in  heaven,  and  thereby  made  them  our 
younger  brothers,  to  whom  protection  and  defence  is  due 
from  the  knightly  order. 

On  their  part,  these  captives  kissed  my  hands  with 
humility;  and  though  I  told  them  that  I  was  only 
a  captive  like  them,  and  that  the  hour  might  come  in 
which  they  would  see  me  in  greater  suffering  and  debase- 
ment than  they  were  in  at  that  time,  they  would  not 
believe  this,  and  said,  — 

"  For  God's  sake !  that  will  not  be." 

But  I  knew  that  that  would  be  when  Sukyman  grew 
tired  of  waiting  in  vain  for  the  ransom ;  and  I  prepared 
for  the  worst  that  could  happen  to  the  body,  since  the 
soul,  having  lost  happiness,  was  in  pain  and  torture 
already. 

In  fact,  Sukyman    came    one   day   to    me,  and   said: 

"  Thou  doest  ill  to  repay  my  favor  with  ingratitude.  I 
treat  thee  like  a  guest,  and  thou  art  living  in  stubborn- 
ness ;  see  then  lest  I  bend  thee  under  my  knee." 

Here  he  declared  his  plans  at  once,  and  asked  me  to 
write  to  the  Commonwealth  for  a  thousand  gold  ducats, 
for  which  I  should  receive  freedom.  I  could  not  do 
this:  first,  because  I  had  only  three  hundred,  and  but 
little  interest  had  accrued;  second,  I  feared  that  Pan 
Tvoryanski  might,  through  his  great  liberality,  pay  for 


1 9  6  TARTAR  •  CAPTIVITY. 

me  out  of  his  own  purse,  which  was  opposed  to  my 
ambition.  But  when  the  Lord  sent  terror  into  my  bones 
in  view  of  Sukyman's  anger,  I  said,  so  as  to  put  off  the 
time  of  torment,  that  I  must  be  obedient  to  his  will. 
I  gave  him  a  letter ;  but  it  was  to  a  priest,  an  acquaint- 
ance whom  I  had  near  Kamenets.  Describing  my  cap- 
tivity, I  begged  him  to  implore  aid  for  me,  which  could 
come  from  God  only. 

Delighted  in  his  greed,  Sukyman  sent  that  letter  by 
Tartars  going  to  the  fair  at  Suchava,  to  which  place 
attendants  are  sent  by  our  magnates  for  sweetmeats. 

Sukyman  was  more  cordial  now  than  before,  and 
invited  me  to  his  house,  which  was  the  most  beautiful  in 
Kizlich.  He  was  a  rich  pagan,  and  greatly  respected, 
as  well  for  his  bravery  as  his  good  fortune,  which  had 
withheld  favor  from  him  only  in  one  thing,  and  that 
was,  that  from  many  wives  he  had  no  son,  but  live 
daughters.  The  eldest  of  these,  Ilia,  he  loved  much  for 
her  beauty.  I  happened  often  to  see  her ;  for  the  Tar- 
tars do  not  keep  their  women  in  seclusion  as  the  Turks 
do,  and  do  not  force  them  to  cover  their  faces.  When 
Ilia  came  to  the  table,  she  looked  at  me  first  with  fear 
and  curiosity,  as  at  some  wonder.  Afterward,  when  her 
native  wildness  was  tamed,  she  would  put  a  vessel  of 
fermented  milk  to  my  lips  without  saying  a  word,  or  a 
ball  of  rice  and  mutton,  as  a  sign  of  her  favor.  Sukyman 
not  only  did  not  oppose  this,  but  did  the  like  himself,  for 
as  we  met  every  day  he  took  a  great  fancy  to  me, 
and  frequently  persuaded  me  to  throw  aside  sadness. 
Through  my  influence,  the  other  prisoners  too  were  more 
comfortable,  since  Ilia  provided  all  kinds  of  food  for  them 
plentifully. 

Therefore  they  loved  her ;  and  when  she  came  to  the 
cistern  they  kissed  her  garments,  calling  her  their  patron- 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY.  197 

ess.  That  pagan  girl  had  not  only  a  fair  countenance' 
but  a  tender  heart;  so  that  'often  I  was  sorry  to  think 
that  she  must  be  damned  for  the  errors  of  her  faith. 
To  me  she  showed  more  and  more  affection.  She  would 
sit  crouched  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  and,  winding  a  silk 
cloth  around  her  head,  look  whole  hours  at  me  in  silence, 
her  eyes  gleaming  like  a  cat's  eyes.  I  asked  her  one  day 
why  she  looked  at  me  in  that  way.  Putting  her  hand 
to  her  forehead,  her  lips,  and  her  breast,  she  bent  to  my 
feet,  and  replied, — 

"  Dear  one,  I  wish  to  be  thy  captive." 

Then  she  ran  away.  Sinful  desires  fell  on  me,  against 
which  I  had  to  seek  defence  in  ardent  prayer.  That  same 
day  Sukyman  came  and  said  to  me,  — 

"  Thou  didst  deceive  me  with  thy  letter,  therefore  I 
ought  to  kill  thee ;  but  since  Allah  has  not  blessed  me 
with  sons,  I  take  pity  on  thy  youth  and  thy  beauty. 
Therefore  I  tell  thee  that  if  thou  wilt  reject  the  errors  of 
thy  faith  and  receive  our  Prophet,  I  will  give  thee  Ilia, 
who  loves  thee,  and  will  make  thee  my  son ;  all  that  I 
have  will  be  thine." 

At  first  I  could  not  let  the  breath  out  of  my  mouth 
from  mighty  astonishment ;  but  when  I  recovered,  I  an- 
swered that  Satan  tempted  Christ,  showing  Him  various 
kingdoms  from  a  mountain-top. 

Enraged  at  these  words,  he  roared  like  a  wild  beast ; 
he  ordered  me  to  take  off  the  clothes  which  I  wore.  When 
I  did  this,  a  Kalmuck  captive  brought  a  hempen  shirt  to 
me,  and  Sukyman  commanded  me  fiercely  to  carry  water 
to  the  cattle. 

It  was  on  Monday,  I  remember,  when  I  had  to  begin 
that  labor.  I  went  up  the  stream,  which  was  salt  at  the 
seaside;  I  took  leather  bags,  and  drawing  water  carried 
it  and  poured  it  into  a  stone  cistern.  Tartar  women,  who 


198  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

went  to  the  stream  to  wash  clothes,  set  dogs  at  me.  In 
the  evening  I  did  not  go  to  the  village  as  formerly,  but 
lay  down  to  sleep  among  camels.  Because  I  was  wearied, 
God  sent  me  sleep  right  away  ;  later  I  woke  on  a  sudden, 
and  saw  some  slender  figure  coming  toward  me  in  the 
moonlight.  I  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  thinking  it  a 
ghost ;  but  it  was  Ilia,  who  brought  a  dish  of  water,  and 
olive  oil.  Then,  washing  my  feet  and  anointing  them,  she 
sat  near  by  on  the  straw,  and  looked  as  before  at  me,  in 
silence,  while  great  silver  drops  were  flowing  from  her 
eyelids. 

"  Ilia,"  asked  I,  "  why  hast  thou  come  here  ? " 

She  whispered  quietly,  showing  her  rnoist  lids  in  the 
moonlight,  — 

"  Dear  one,  why  hast  thou  despised  me  ? " 

From  weeping  she  could  say  no  more.  The  heart  in 
me  was  moved  toward  that  maiden,  and  I  wanted  to 
gather  her  to  my  bosom ;  but  white  Marysia  stood  before 
me,  and  the  sinful  thought  flew  away.  I  told  Ilia  that  I 
could  not  be  her  husband,  if  only  because  of  her  faith, 
which  in-  my  eyes  was  for  the  soul  of  a  man  what  foul 
rust  is  for  iron  ;  but  that  I  could  give  her  more  than  any- 
thing which  might  come  from  others,  that  is,  the  holy 
cross,  which  would  cleanse  her  from  original  sin,  and 
secure  her  salvation.  In  her  blindness  she  could  not  find 
vision;  and,  seizing  her  head  with  both  hands,  in  great 
despair,  she  went  away  as  she  had  come  to  me. 

The  next  day  I  returned  to  my  labor,  which  was  the 
more  oppressive  because  they  gave  me  to  eat  sparingly. 
I  met  Sukyman,  also. 

"  I  will  bend  thee,"  said  he. 

"  Thou  wilt  bend  only  my  body,"  answered  I ;  "  for 
know  that,  being  a  noble,  I  have  a  soul  that  is  un- 
bending." 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY.  199 

When  he  heard  this,  he  went  away  gnashing  his  teeth. 
Thus  did  God  punish  me  for  that  deceitful  letter ;  if  I 
had  not  written  it,  I  should  not  have  roused  Sukyman 
against  me  so  savagely  because  I  had  rejected  his 
daughter. 

On  Friday  the  captives  came  as  usual  to  meditate,  to 
sing  mournful  songs,  and  wash  their  wounds.  Seeing 
me  in  my  debasement,  they  fell  at  my  feet  with  earnest 
weeping,  crying  that  my  dignity  had  been  disgraced. 
But  I  did  not  think  so;  Christ,  though  of  kingly  race, 
suffered  still  greater  contempt,  wishing  by  that  to  show 
the  estate  of  nobles  that  the  worth  of  honorable  blood  is 
stained,  not  by  suffering,  but  by  the  dread  of  it.  The 
prisoners,  hearing  of  the  conditions  which  Sukyman 
offered  me,  cried, — 

"  Oh,  pretend  to  receive  the  Prophet ;  do  so  only 
for  appearance'  sake,  and  you  will  not  lose  your  soul. 
When  son  of  the  powerful  Sukyman,  you  will  bring 
comfort  to  yourself  and  to  us,  for  we  shall  be  your 
captives." 

I  told  them  if  that  was  their  counsel,  they  must  be 
near  unto  dogs,  for  they  were  defiling  their  lips  with 
barking  against  the  Lord  God,  not  understanding  that  it 
is  improper  to  incline,  even  apparently,  before  the  false 
prophet.  Then  they  said, — 

"  We  shall  all  lose  our  lives  here ; "  and  they  were  in 
despair. 

God  has  refused  honor  to  people  without  birth,  and 
made  them  more  regardful  of  temporal  profit. 

Hearing  of  this,  the  prsefectus  Sukyman  became  very 
angry,  and  determined  to  bend  me  with  hunger.  He  did 
not  wish  to  kill,  or  to  sell  me ;  for  he  himself  had  long 
loved  me,  and  could  not  kill  me  because  of  Ilia,  who,  as 
I  learned  afterward,  clung  to  her  father's  garments  when 


200  TARTAR   CAPTIVITY. 

he  made  threats  against  my  life,  and  with  great  entreaties 
she  restrained  him,  in  the  hope  that  my  mind  would 
change  soon,  in  accord  with  her  wishes. 

Then  times  of  great  affliction  came  to  me,  and  the  fore- 
seen hour  of  suffering  struck.  But  when  I  thought  of 
my  fathers,  of  the  glory  and  the  untarnished  name  which 
they  left  me,  great  strength  entered  my  heart.  I  thought 
only  of  this,  not  to  bring  disgrace  by  anything  in  captivity 
to  the  order  of  nobles,  the  dignity  of  which  I  carried 
there  in  myself,  and  which  is  the  foundation  of  the 
Commonwealth.  Sukyman,  wishing  that  I  should  de- 
grade myself,  said,  — 

"  Thou  mayest  eat  with  dogs,  and  take  what  is  thrown 
to  them." 

Unwilling  to  do  that,  I  ate  only  locusts,  which  I  found 
on  the  sea  shore.  Frequently  also  food  was  placed  near 
me  by  some  unseen  hand,  in  which  I  suspected  Ilia.  But 
later  on  they  watched  her,  and  she  could  not  continue ; 
other  women,  Tartar  witches,  not  only  had  no  compas- 
sion for  me,  but  once  they  so  beat  me  with  sticks  that 
my  whole  body  was  blue.  If  locusts  were  lacking,  I 
suffered  hunger.  Sometimes  the  captives  brought  me 
figs  gathered  in  the  Tartar  gardens ;  but  when  I  saw  that 
they  received  blows  for  so  doing,  I  commanded  them  to 
stop.  They  looked  at  me  with  tears,  repeating,  — 

"  Our  lord,  to  what  has  it  come  with  thee  ! " 

Slavery,  not  only  my  own,  but  that  of  others,  became 
more  severe ;  for  the  Tartars  flamed  up  with  great  hatred 
against  us.  One  poor  Cossack,  named  Fedko,  was  im- 
paled on  a  stake,  where  he  died  on  the  second  day  after- 
ward, repeating,  "  0  Christ !  0  Christ !  "  In  the  night 
we  removed  him  from  the  stake  and  buried  him  in  the 
sand  by  the  sea,  begging  God  for  a  death  equally  beau- 
tiful. Surely  that  Father  who  existed  before  the  ages 


TARTAR   CAPTIVITY.  201 

ennobled  Fedko  in  heaven,  covered  him  with  purple,  and 
raised  him  to  the  highest  glory. 

I  was  thinking  to  part  soon  with  my  earthly  covering, 
for  it  was  a  month  since  I  had  begun  to  eat  locusts, 
which  now  were  scarcer  and  scarcer  in  the  sand.  I  had 
grown  terribly  emaciated  and  black,  and  my  legs  were 
tottering  under  me.  When  I  had  filled  the  bags  in  the 
stream,  I  carried  them  with  groaning,  until  at  last,  sitting 
down  in  the  camel  yard,  next  to  the  garden,  I  could  go 
no  farther.  Then  those  beasts,  whose  hearts  were  better 
than  those  of  the  pagans,  stretched  out  their  bent  necks 
through  the  hurdle  fence  to  me,  and,  snorting,  took  pity 
on  my  suffering. 

But  once  in  the  night,  while  half  sleeping,  I  saw  Ilia 
again ;  she  brought  water  and  food  to  me.  Because  of 
great  weakness,  I  slept  in  the  daytime  as  well ;  and  God, 
in  His  mercy,  sent  me  dreams  about  my  dear  country. 
Marysia  came  to  me  too,  all  in  white,  with  angel's  wings 
on  her  shoulders ;  with  these  she  shaded  my  head  from 
the  heat.  She  came  always  at  midday,  in  great  heat; 
and  toward  evening,  when  I  was  weakest,  I  heard  singing 
coming  from  heaven.  I  was  unconscious  perhaps  for  a 
time,  for  I  saw  not  the  light  of  earth ;  but  afterward 
health  returned  to  me,  for  I  saw  again  new  piles  of  straw, 
the  enclosure  for  the  camels,  and  the  heads  of  those 
beasts  raised  toward  the  sky. 

A  certain  time  Sukyman,  coming  near  me,  said,  — 
"  Learn  the  power  of  the  servants  of  the  Prophet ! " 
To  which  I  answered,  "  Learn  that  of   a   servant  of 
Christ." 

Meanwhile  a  festival  came.  The  Tartars,  when  night 
fell,  took  those  Venetian  lamps  which  I  have  mentioned, 
and  ornamented  the  whole  place  with  them ;  then  each 
man,  holding  a  light  in  his  hand,  went  out  on  the  road, 


202  TARTAR   CAPTIVITY. 

and  they  marched  on  in  crowds.  That  was  at  the  time 
of  the  full  moon.  They  cried  in  loud  voices  to  their  God 
and  Prophet,  for  they  have  a  custom  to  walk  and  pray 
the  whole  night.  They  gave  great  alms  also  on  that  day  ; 
captives  were  sitting  in  rows  along  the  road ;  and  what 
any  one  asked  for  in  food  or  in  clothing  he  received.  The 
years  of  service  were  shortened  for  some ;  and  a  certain 
Essaul,  who  had  dragged  a  Tartar  child  out  of  the  water, 
received  liberty,  for  it  is  mean  to  refuse  what  is  lawful 
on  that  day.  Hence  there  was  great  joy  among  the  cap- 
tives, for  no  one  suffered  hunger  or  received  blows,  or 
was  punished  with  death.  Sukyman  walked  past  the 
straw  where  I  was  lying,  and  at  his  side  went  Ilia ;  but 
very  haughtily,  for  she  did  not  look  at  me,  but  taking  a 
barley  cake  from  a  basket  she  threw  it  toward  me,  while 
looking  in  the  opposite  direction.  A  Kalmuck  captive, 
sitting  near,  seized  the  cake.  Sukyman  thought  that  I 
would  ask  as  well  as  others,  and  he  would  not  have  re- 
fused me.  But,  though  I  had  not  taken  anything  in  my 
mouth  for  a  long  time,  I  did  not  think  it  befitting  a  noble 
to  stretch  out  his  hand  with  common  people,  and  I  chose 
to  stifle  with  wind  the  hunger  which  was  gnawing  my 
entrails.  Sukyman  said  then  to  others,  — 

"Indeed,  this  captive  has  an  iron  soul;  we  should  en- 
treat him  to  have  pity  on  himself,  for  he  puts  his  own 
pride  above  everything." 

The  pagan  did  not  know  that  just  then  my  soul  had 
placed  itself  in  the  dust,  and  in  the  greatest  weakness 
before  the  Lord,  for  my  suffering  was  almost  stronger 
than  I  was.  But  in  the  night  some  one  placed  food  near 
me  again.  When  I  had  eaten  this  eagerly,  I  felt  stronger, 
and  dragged  myself  at  once  from  the  camel  yard;  and, 
though  my  hands  and  feet  were  trembling,  I  began  to 
carry  water  again  to  the  cistern.  Of  locusts,  too,  God 


TARTAR   CAPTIVITY.  203 

sent  an  abundance  during  the  days  which  succeeded. 
Meanwhile  hunger  taught  me  to  eat  ugly  things  of  the 
sea,  which,  though  vile  in  form,  are  not  bad.  I  lived 
then  like  a  bird  from  day  to  day,  and  when  I  walked 
along  the  sea  shore  each  wave  brought  to  my  feet  those 
poor  snails,  making  a  noise  with  them  as  with  nutshells. 

The  nights  began  to  be  very  cold.  Other  prisoners 
were  permitted  to  go  to  the  village.  I  had  to  sleep  on  my 
straw ;  but  the  compassionate  camels  lay  around  me, 
warming  me  with  their  breath  and  bodies.  I  thought 
that  I  should  not  endure  the  cold,  and  that  was  my  one 
hope  ;  I  had  no  other  before  me.  Ah  !  dear  mother,  dear 
country,  how  I  yearned  for  thee,  and  for  thee,  my  maiden, 
whom  I  did  not  see,  but  did  not  cease  to  love,  and  de- 
sired all  the  more,  —  desired  like  water  in  heat,  like  bread 
in  hunger,  like  death  in  torture  ! 

Still  Providence  watches  in  many  ways  over  those 
whom  it  tries  ;  for  had  it  not  been  for  the  misery  and  con- 
tempt in  which  I  was  living,  Sukyman  might  have  sold 
me  to  Tsargrad  or  Galata,  where  there  are  great  markets 
for  slaves  ;  but  now,  because  of  that  misery,  no  one  would 
take  me  at  any  price,  as  I  was  more  like  a  dying  man,  or 
a  Lazarus,  than  a  knight.  Not  to  mention  that  merely  a 
filthy  shirt  covered  my  naked  limbs,  my  leanness  had 
made  me  a  skeleton,  and  besides  abundant  hair  had 
grown  out  on  my  face  and  head;  the  skin  which  had 
cracked  on  all  my  body  was  covered  with  scabs  and  red 
spots  from  the  camels.  Some  thought  me  a  leper,  and 
even  among  captives  I  began  to  rouse  disgust.  But  I 
offered  up  for  my  sins  my  body,  a  vain  covering,  which, 
like  every  garment,  tears  and  falls  into  rags  ;  for  only  two 
things  are  lasting,  the  immortal  soul  and  honor,  which, 
based  upon  birth,  is  its  principal  quality,  just  as  brightness 
is  that  of  stars  in  the  sky. 


204  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 


CHAPTEK   IV. 

SPKING  came  again,  and  a  warmer  sun  shone  on  my 
misery,  to  which  I  had  become  so  accustomed  that  I 
had  almost  forgotten  that  there  are  happy  people  on  earth. 
Storks,  wagtails,  swallows,  and  larks  flew  in  flocks  toward 
the  north ;  and  I  said  to  them,  "  Free  birds,  ah,  tell  the 
Commonwealth  and  all  estates  that  I  have  endured  like  a 
patriot  noble,  and  though  fastened  so  firmly  to  the  earth, 
though  trampled  by  the  feet  of  pagans,  I  weep  only  before 
God,  and  preserve  a  proud  face  toward  my  enemies,  and 
have  not  let  my  soul  be  conquered." 

The  end  of  my  misery  was  still  far  away ;  but  that  spring 
brought  changes,  and  new  omens,  it  was  full  of  wonder- 
ful auguries :  In  the  sky  above  the  Crimea  appeared  the 
rod  of  God's  anger,  a  comet,  and  blinking  with  blue  eye 
it  shook  its  tail  as  a  sign  of  destruction  to  the  Crimea 
and  pagandom.  The  terrified  Tartars,  going  with  shout- 
ing at  night,  and  with  an  uproar  and  rattling,  sent  clouds 
of  blazing  arrows  to  the  sky  to  frighten  that  bird  of  evil 
omen.  Their  priests  proclaimed  a  fast,  and  their  magi- 
cians predicted  a  plague.  Fear  fell  upon  the  hearts  of 
people;  and  it  was  no  vain  fear,  for  tidings  came  that  a 
plague  had  broken  out  at  the  Palus  Maeotis.  Expeditions 
were  to  go  that  spring  to  the  Commonwealth  by  two 
roads ;  but  they  did  not  go.  People,  standing  in  crowds 
on  the  street,  dared  not  speak  aloud,  and  only  turned  their 
eyes  to  the  East,  whence  was  to  fly  the  "  Black  Div,"  as 
they  called  it.  Fresh  news  was  circling  continually ; 
till  at  last  it  thundered  on  Kizlich  that  the  plague  had 
appeared  in  the  Khan's  capital.  The  Khan  himself  fled 
from  his  capital.  Some  said  that  he  would  hide  with  his 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY.  205 

wives  in  the  mountains  on  the   south;  others  that  he 
would  come  to  Kizlich,  where  sea  breezes  purify  the  air. 

The  Khan,  following  the  advice  of  soothsayers,  came  to 
Kizlich,  driving  immense  herds  and  flocks  in  advance,  so 
as  to  have  food  for  his  court.  Sukyman  received  him 
with  great  honor ;  and  people  fell  on  their  faces  before  him, 
for  those  slaves  consider  him  almost  a  god  and  related  to 
the  heavenly  bodies.  He  did  not  bring  many  of  the  horde, 
only  his  court,  a  thousand  Baskaks,  with  a  few  Hadjis,  and 
Agas  in  yellow  coats ;  for  it  was  feared  that  the  plague 
would  appear  more  easily  in  a  great  concourse  of  people. 

The  plague  travelled  over  the  Crimea,  especially  that 
part  called  Yenikale.  When  it  attacked  a  place,  it  took 
every  one  in  it,  and  passed  other  villages  altogether ;  but 
wherever  it  went,  even  birds  fell  down  dead.  The  nearest 
it  came  to  Kizlich  was  two  days'  journey.  The  Khan 
thanked  God  for  his  escape,  and  made  liberal  gifts  to  the 
soothsayers  ;  he  also  gave  freedom  to  many  captives.  But 
just  when  others  gathered  the  fruits  of  his  favor,  the  last 
trial  met  me. 

A  certain  time  when  the  Khan  was  riding  past  the 
straw  on  which  I  was  lying,  he  came  very  near,  looked  at 
me,  and  asked  Sukyman  who  that  was  who  seemed  to 
be  so  miserable.  I  know  not  what  answer  was  given ; 
but  I  saw  that  they  talked  long  together,  and  evidently 
Sukyman  was  complaining  of  my  ingratitude  and  stub- 
bornness, for  at  last  he  said  aloud,  "  Try  him,  lord !  " 

Made  curious  by  this,  the  Khan  turned  his  horse 
toward  me.  That  moment  two  messengers  sprang  out 
before  him,  and  shouted,  "  On  thy  face,  unbelieving  dog ! " 
but  I  did  not  obey,  though  they  fell  to  beating  me  on  the 
head  with  long  reeds.  Then  the  master,  approaching, 
inquired,  — 


206  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

"  Why  wilt  thou  not  fall  on  thy  face  before  me  ? " 

I  answered,  "  If  it  is  not  befitting  a  noble  to  do  that 
before  his  own  king,  how  dost  thou  wish  me  to  do  it  be- 
fore a  stranger  and  a  pagan  ? " 

Here  the  Khan,  turning  his  face  from  me,  said,  — 

"Thou  didst  speak  wisely,  0  Sukyman."  And  then 
he  said  to  me,  "  If  I  were  to  offer  thee  the  choice,  either 
to  show  me  honor  and  fall  on  thy  face  before  me,  for 
which  thou  wouldst  receive  freedom,  or  die  a  cruel 
death,  which  wouldst  thou  choose?" 

To  this  I  answered  that  it  did  not  befit  a  captive  to 
choose;  let  him,  the  Khan,  do  what  he  liked  with  me; 
but  let  him  observe,  however,  that  each  man  of  the  low- 
est station  may  inflict  a  cruel  death ;  but  the  majesty  of 
a  monarch,  having  its  source  in  the  will  of  God,  becomes 
most  like  the  Creator,  and  shows  its  power  best,  when  it 
gives  life  instead  of  death.  He  pondered  over  my  words, 
and  said  afterward,— 

"  If,  being  a  captive,  thou  wilt  not  honor  or  obey  me, 
thou  dost  act  against  God,  who  commands  captives  to 
obey." 

I  answered,  "  Only  my  body  is  in  captivity." 

Hearing  this,  the  Tartars  grew  pale ;  but  the  Khan  was 
patient,  for  it  was  not  in  vain  that  they  called  him  dis- 
creet. After  he  had  meditated  a  time,  he  rode  away ;  but 
while  doing  so,  he  said  to  the  Agas  and  to  his  messengers, 
"  When  ye  fall  into  captivity  among  unbelievers,  be  like 
this  man." 

Now  I  had  rest  for  two  days,  and  they  brought  food 
to  me.  Some  even  came  to  me  saying,  "  Our  lord  will 
not  forget  thee ;  but  when  he  brings  thee  into  favor,  do 
not  forget  us." 

Captivity  had  so  debased  the  hearts  of  those  people 
that,  foreseeing  a  change  in  niy  fortune,  they  were  seek- 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY.  207 

ing  favors  with  me  while  I  was  still  lying  in  filth.  I 
rejoiced  in  soul,  for  I  thought  that  I  should  receive  free- 
dom, and  perhaps  with  it  find  happiness.  After  two  days, 
the  Khan,  in  passing,  turned  his  horse  to  me  a  second 
time. 

"  I  have  weighed,"  said  he,  "  thy  words  in  my  wisdom, 
and  I  put  them  on  the  scales  of  justice.  Thou  hast 
found  favor  with  me  for  thy  courage ;  say  then  what 
thou  dost  wish  that  I  should  do  for  thee  ? " 

I  answered  that  for  one  born  in  a  free  condition,  free- 
dom was  the  dearest  fruit  of  his  favor. 

"  And  if  I  refuse  it  ? "  asked  he. 

"  Then  give  me  death." 

He  stopped  again ;  he  desired  so  much  that  all  should 
admire  and  praise  his  wisdom  that  he  undertook  nothing 
without  meditation.  During  this  time  the  heart  was 
beating  in  me  like  a  hammer.  After  he  had  thought  a 
while,  he  said,  — 

"  Do  not  draw  the  bow  too  far  lest  it  break  and  wound 
thy  hands ;  therefore  I  tell  thee  my  last  words :  I  will 
give  thee  a  yellow  coat,  take  thee  to  my  court,  reward 
thee  with  riches,  and  make  thee  my  equerry,  will  not 
extort  change  of  faith  from  thee,  if  thou  wilt  promise  to 
serve  me  with  good  will." 

My  heart  quivered  at  once  with  great  joy,  but  suddenly 
I  thought  that  those  were  temptations  of  Satan,  and 
besides  what  should  I  say  to  my  fathers  in  answer  to 
their  question,  "What  wert  thou  on  earth?"  Could  I 
say  to  those  knights  who  had  fallen  in  battle,  "I  was 
of  my  own  choice  a  Tartar  equerry  "  ?  And  a  terrible  fear 
seized  me  before  that  question  of  my  fathers,  a  fear 
greater  than  torture  and  death  ;  stretching  out  my  hands 
to  the  Khan  then,  I  cried,  "Oh,  lord,  do  not  ask  my  will, 
for  the  will  comes  from  the  soul;  the  soul  is  not  only 


208  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

mindful  of  faith,  but  of  the  condition  in  which  it  entered 
the  world ;  and  receiving  that  condition  from  my  fathers, 
I  must  bear  it  back  to  them  unspotted." 

"  Captive,  thou  hast  broken  the  bow,"  said  the  Khan. 

I  saw  that  the  hour  had  come,  for  anger  began  to  appear 
on  his  face ;  but  he  recollected  himself  and  spoke  these 
words  to  Sukyman, — 

"  Wise  Sukyman,  indeed,  I  have  gone  too  far  in  kind- 
ness to  this  dog,  and  now  I  command  thee  to  break 
him  without  fail ;  but  before  thou  takest  his  life,  bring 
him  by  torture  to  this,  that  he  shall  crawl  in  obedience 
even  at  thy  feet." 

Then  he  rode  away;  Kalmucks  took  me  and  bound 
me  to  a  stake,  at  command  of  Sukyman.  All  the  people 
and  captives  that  were  there  ran  together  to  see  what 
tortures  would  be  given  me.  Directing  my  soul  to  God 
with  all  the  strength  that  was  in  me,  I  implored  this  of 
Him  most,  to  give  me  fortitude,  and  not  let  me  debase 
myself.  All  at  once  I  felt  that  my  prayer  was  heard,  for 
a  strong  spirit  breathed  on  me.  I  thought  that  I  repre- 
sented the  power  of  that  cross  which  never  will  perish ; 
that  I  was  there  as  an  envoy  of  the  Commonwealth,  a 
delegate  from  the  estates  to  be  tortured ;  that  I  was  there 
a  soldier,  to  die  at  command  of  Christ,  called  to  testify 
with  my  blood  the  foundation  of  my  life,  to  testify  to 
the  soul,  which,  like  a  heavenly  fire,  does  not  perish. 

And  thinking  thus,  though  wretched,  weak,  covered 
with  dust,  emaciated  by  hunger,  I  felt  immeasurable 
majesty  within  myself,  as  if  I  had  been  looking  from 
some  height  on  this  world.  The  Kalmucks  began  to 
lash  me  with  rawhides,  and  soon  I  was  swimming  in 
blood. 

"  Wilt  thou  fall  on  thy  face  ? "   asked  they. 

"  I  am  a  Polish  noble,"  I  answered. 


TARTAR  CAFIIVITY.  209 

Then  they  lashed  me  again ;  others  lighted  slow  fires 
at  my  feet,  so  that,  while  burning,  I  should  cry  the  sooner 
for  mercy.  In  fact,  I  began  to  yield,  but  not  in  soul, 
only  in  body,  for  great  weakness  passed  through  my 
bones,  and  the  light  of  day  paled  before  my  eyes.  See- 
ing that  death  was  approaching,  I  raised  my  head  with 
the  remnant  of  my  strength,  and  cried  in  the  direction 
of  the  Commonwealth,  "  Dost  thou  see  me ;  dost  thou 
hear  me  ? " 

Then  suddenly,  as  it  were,  across  all  the  steppe  and 
through  Perekop,  came  to  me  the  voice,  "  I  see."  In 
the  distance  something  began  to  seem  hazy  ;  the  heavens 
and  the  air  ran  together ;  out  of  this  came  a  woman  with 
a  sweet  face  and  stood  near  me.  The  fire  ceased  to  burn 
me ;  the  rawhide  whistled  above  me  no  more,  and  I  felt 
that  I  was  flying,  borne  on  the  hand  of  that  woman. 
With  her  was  a  legion  of  angels  singing,  "  Not  in  a  kon- 
tush  and  with  a  sabre,  but  in  wounds,  0  knight,  knight 
manful  in  battle,  enduring  in  torture !  0  Paladin  of 
Christ,  faithful  son  of  the  bloody  land  !  Welcome  to 
peace !  welcome  to  happiness !  welcome  to  joy  ! "  And 
so  we  flew  onward  to  heaven,  and  what  I  saw  there  my 
sinful  lips  cannot  utter  to  mortal  ears. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  WAGON  squeaks  under  me,  and  a  fresh,  cool 
breeze  blows  around.  I  open  my  eyes ;  I  see  not 
Kizlich,  but  a  steppe,  —  a  steppe  like  the  sea.  Then  I 
close  my  lids,  thinking  that  a  dream  is  presenting  some 
puppet-show  before  me.  I  look  again  ;  I  see  the  old  face 
of  Kimek,  Pan  Tvoryanski's  house-steward,  and  behind 
him  a  number  of  attendants. 

14 


210  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

"  Praise  be  to  God,"  he  says,  "  you  have  recovered ! " 

1  ask  whither  I  am  going. 

"  To  the  Commonwealth." 

"  I  am  free  ? " 

"  Free." 

"  Who  ransomed  me  ? " 

"  The  young  lady." 

When  he  said  "  young  lady,"  something  like  an  immense 
weeping  burst  forth  from  my  breast.  I  stretched  out  my 
hands ;  I  fainted. 

When  I  came  to  myself  a  day  later,  a  wagon  was 
squeaking  beneath  me,  and  Kimek  told  all.  Behold,  Pan 
Tvoryanski  had  been  transferred  from  this  wretched 
world  to  a  better  one,  leaving  Marysia  his  heiress ;  she  was 
living  with  her  uncle,  a  bishop.  Tidings  of  my  misery,  my 
torments  and  tortures,  reached  them ;  then  she,  falling  at 
her  uncle's  feet,  acknowledged  her  love,  and,  with  his  per- 
mission, ransomed  me  from  Suky man's  power. 

Kimek  did  not  find  the  Khan  in  Kizlich.  When  the 
plague  passed  he  went  to  a  place  called  Eupatoria ;  and 
Sukyman,  thinking  me  dead,  sold  what  was  left  of  me  for 
three  hundred  gold  ducats. 

Kimek  also  thought  that  he  would  be  more  likely  to 
take  me  home  dead,  for  I  took  no  note  of  God's  world 
for  two  weeks;  still  the  Lord  restored  life  to  me. 

Hearing  all  this,  and  understanding  that  I  was  ran- 
somed from  pagan  captivity  at  the  instance  of  my 
maiden,  I  wept  earnestly,  and  made  this  vow  in  my  soul 
to  love  that  compassionate  maiden  and  guard  her  during 
my  lifetime.  It  seemed  to  me  then  that  my  stay  in  the 
Crimea,  my  captivity  with  Sukyman,  and  the  tortures 
which  I  had  suffered  were  a  dream.  Providence  so  orders 
the  things  of  this  life  that  in  time  everything  passes  and 
remains  only  in  memory,  with  this  difference,  however, 


TARTAR  CAPTIVITY.  211 

that  the  harsher  the  happenings  the  pleasanter  it  is  to 
remember  them.  So  that  not  only  past  labors,  but  sor- 
rows become  joyous. 

If  God  sometimes  tries  a  man  of  knightly  station 
severely,  He  adds  strength  to  him ;  and  if  He  takes  his 
life,  He  rewards  him  even  in  that  way.  He  sent  me 
a  saving  angel  in  my  Marysia,  and  did  not  let  me  dis- 
grace myself  in  time  of  trials. 

When  I  woke  in  the  night,  or  when  the  morning 
dawned  and  I  waked  after  sleep,  I  repeated  that  I  was 
going  to  rny  birthplace,  and  would  see  Marysia.  Think- 
ing thus,  I  wished  to  sit  on  horseback  immediately ;  but 
Kimek  would  not  permit  that,  as  there  was  no  strength 
in  ma  I  lay  on  my  back  in  the  wagon,  like. some  bag, 
and  in  that  way  we  went  to  Mohylna.  There,  when  my 
old  comrades  saw  me,  they  rushed  out  like  bees  from  a 
hive,  crying,  "  We  know  of  thee,  we  know !  we  know ! 
Welcome,  dear  comrade ! "  and  looking  at  my  feet,  into 
which  burnt  coals  had  settled  thickly,  they  covered  them- 
selves with  tears,  and  one  repeated  to  another,  "  Bend 
the  head  before  him,  for  he  is  the  truest  knight  among 
all !  "  Then  they  began  to  give  me  what  each  owned  or 
had  acquired  from  plunder :  hence,  horses  with  trappings 
silk  tents,  sabres  set  with  precious  stones,  Italian  sequins, 
Turkish  cloth,  holsters,  rich  daggers,  vessels  of  silver  or 
of  pure  gold,  sable  furs ;  one  man  would  give  a  hand- 
ful of  turquoises  or  rubies,  another  a  diamond  clasp  or 
pin,  so  that  they  threw  down  before  me  treasures  worth 
thousands  of  gold  ducats  which  I  had  to  carry  in  five 
wagons.  This  they  did  with  good  heart,  but  the  more 
easily  since  they  were  going  on  a  war  against  the  Cos- 
sacks ;  for  Loboda  and  Nalevaika  had  begun  their  move- 
ment in  the  Ukraine,  for  which  they  were  crushed  by 
JolkevskL 


212  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

Then  we  went  farther.  Frequently  various  detach- 
ments of  warriors  met  us,  and  some  warriors,  when  ap- 
proaching, inquired :  "  Whom  are  ye  carrying  ? "  To 
which  Kimek  answered,  "  A  noble  cut  to  pieces  in  cap- 
tivity." After  these  words  each  not  only  left  us  in 
quiet,  but  besides  gave  what  he  could.  Beyond  Kieff, 
we  met  Jolkevski  himself,  who,  feigning  a  march  on 
Pereyaslav,  wanted  to  cross  the  Dnieper.  When  that 
famous  warrior  heard  what  had  met  me  in  captivity,  he 
said,  "They  reward  men  of  less  value  with  starosta- 
ships ;  I  will  write  to  the  king  of  this."  He  gave  me  a 
costly  ring,  which  I  wear  on  my  finger  till  now.  My 
heart  rose  at  sight  of  his  warriors,  who,  though  not 
numerous,  and  fatigued  by  continual  pursuing,  were  so 
trained  and  so  willing  that  in  no  battle  could  an  enemy 
hold  the  field  before  them. 

Looking  at  those  men,  black  from  the  wind,  men  who 
slept  on  the  grass  of  the  steppe,  ate  nothing  for  two 
days  and  three,  removed  not  their  armor  at  night 
even,  who  stanched  their  wounds  with  powder,  and  who 
withal  had  the  courage  of  heroes,  I  felt  humble,  and 
thought  it  not  well  to  be  elated  and  think  much  of  my 
services,  when  those  made  naught  of  enduring  such  hard- 
ships and  were  singing  in  gladness,  as  if  not  understand- 
ing that  they  were  heroes.  Oh,  how  sorry  I  was  not  to 
be  able  to  mount  a  horse,  wear  armor,  carry  a  lance,  and 
go  with  them !  I  had  to  stay  behind,  and  besides  pull 
out  dead  coals  from  my  skin. 

There  were  great  delights  at  that  time  in  the  Ukraine 
for  all  valiant  souls.  Every  night  flames  could  be  seen, 
and  battle  trumpets  heard. 

Pan  Pototski,  voevoda  of  Kamenyets,  with  Jolkevski, 
whirled  around  the  steppes  like  an  eagle.  Prince  Eo- 
jinski  was  victorious  near  Pavolochy ;  Yazlovetski  was 


TARTAR   CAPTIVITY.  213 

skirmishing ;  Nalevaika,  Loboda  and  Sasko,  with  the  rab- 
ble, rushed  away  through  ravines  like  fleeing  wolves. 

Once  peasants  drunk  on  Moldavian  wine  met  us.  Ki- 
mek  told  them,  as  he  had  others,  that  he  was  taking 
home  a  wounded  noble.  They  lighted  many  torches  to 
recogni/e  me  in  the  night ;  then  they  moved  on,  taking 
me  to  Kremski.  When  torches  were  lighted  in  Krem- 
ski's  camp  I  was  recognized  by  that  Cossack  Essaul  who 
had  been  with  me  in  the  Crimea  and  was  liberated  for 
saving  a  child.  This  Cossack  began  to  cry,  "  0  lord  t 
0  lord  ! "  and  afterward,  while  saying,  "  That  Pole  they 
are  taking  is  a  saint ! "  he  fell  at  my  feet.  When  he  told 
Kremski  how  I  had  helped  them  in  captivity,  others 
came  to  me  cap  in  hand ;  these  I  reprimanded  at  once 
for  not  remaining  in  obedience  to  the  Commonwealth. 
Kremski  not  only  did  not  take  my  life,  more  than  that, 
he  took  nothing,  but,  having  made  me  a  present,  sent  a 
guard  with  me.  So  the  enemy  is  able  to  honor  wounds 
and  bravery  in  a  warrior,  for  this  God  certainly  rewarded 
Kremski  with  salvation ;  he  was  not  so  hostile  to  the 
Commonwealth  as  people  imagined. 

In  the  Ukraine,  nay,  in  the  whole  Commonwealth,  it 
was  seething  as  in  a  beehive,  and  God  sent  many  misfor- 
tunes on  our  land;  for  with  war  moved  also  that  hell- 
dweller,  the  pestilence.  When  their  minds  were  occupied 
with  other  things,  there  \vere  few  who  paid  attention  to 
it ;  but  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes  from  the  wagon.  That 
pestilence  went  not  in  a  straight  line,  but,  as  in  the 
Crimea,  attacked  in  spots,  carrying  off  single  hamlets,  vil- 
lages, and  settlements.  Here  and  there  also  were  mayors 
of  the  air,1  so  called;  and  piles  of  manure  were  burning 

1  Mayors  of  the  air  were  officials  who  saw  that  the  air  was  made 
offensive  to  the  pestilence.  According  to  popular  belief,  the  pestilence 
appeared  in  the  form  of  a  woman. 


214  TARTAR  CAPTIVITY. 

in  the  villages,  smoking  abundantly  and  offensively,  the 
odor  of  which  the  pestilence  could  not  endure.  In  the 
night  tar-makers  watched  these  heaps  lest  the  fire  should 
die  out  in  them.  The  people,  in  view  of  disaster,  formed 
processions,  in  which  banners  with  death-heads  were  car- 
ried. At  the  same  time  God  sent  down  blindness  of  some 
sort  on  men ;  for  there  was  no  agreement  among  magnates, 
who,  instead  of  mounting  their  horses,  as  they  might  have 
done,  simply  and  honestly,  disturbed  diets  with  their 
wrangling.  The  enemy  assembled  on  the  borders,  and 
our  forces  were  wonderfully  scattered.  In  this,  our  mis- 
fortune has  ever  consisted ;  for  if  all  the  nobles  and  mag- 
nates would  rush  to  battle  in  harmony,  the  orb  of  the  earth 
would  tremble  before  us.  I  say  this,  because  there  are 
none  who  can  stand  before  our  lances.  Later  in  life  I  saw 
Turkish  janissaries,  Scottish  infantry,  and  Swedish  cavalry 
broken  by  them  ;  so  I  assert,  that  nature  endowed  us  more 
richly  with  warlike  capacity  than  others,  but  we  send  a 
thousand  men  out,  where  others  send  ten  times  as  many. 

The  secret  of  why  this  is  done  must  be  sought  in  God's 
will,  for  it  should  seem  to  each  one  easier  to  mount  a 
horse,  than  disturb  with  the  tongue.  Greater  glory  would 
result,  less  error  of  mind,  greater  merit,  and  more  certain 
salvation. 

A  man  passes  like  a  traveller  through  the  world,  and 
should  not  be  concerned  for  himself,  but  only  for  the 
Commonwealth,  which  is  and  must  be  without  end. 
Amen ! 

CHAPTEE  VI. 

OGOD,  Holy,  Almighty,  Immortal,  be  Thou  praised  in 
Thy  works !     Whenever  I  turn  my  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  I  see  Thee,  and  when  I  see  Thee  I  confess  Thee. 


TARTAR  CAFflVITY.  215 

Thou  hast  hung  the  fires  of  heaven  in  the  firmament. 
Thou,  in  commanding  the  sun  to  rise  from  the  sea,  makest 
day  on  the  mountains  and  in  the  valleys.  In  Thy  praise 
is  the  murmur  of  pine  woods  and  the  lowing  of  flocks  in 
the  field.  In  Thy  praise  armies  ride  through  the  steppes, 
with  the  neighing  of  horses ;  and  every  earthly  Common- 
wealth gives  Thee  honor.  And  because  Thou  hast 
deserted  Thy  servant  and  deprived  him  of  happiness,  in 
this  too  be  Thou  praised.  My  life  has  passed  in  war, 
and  my  hair  has  grown  white  in  trials.  0  Lord,  I  was 
present  where  cannon  sang  Thy  majesty  with  fire,  and 
thundered  Thy  name  in  smoke  !  In  Moldavia  and  Livonia 
my  blood  has  flowed;  and  to-day  I  am  old,  my  dim  pupils 
are  turning  earthward,  and  my  body  desires  endless  rest. 
Not  earthly  goods,  not  wealth,  not  honors,  not  offices  do  I 
bear  to  that  world  with  me,  for  behold  I  am  poor  as  at 
first.  But,  0  Lord,  I  will  show  Thee  my  shield,  and  I 
will  say :  "  Behold,  it  is  stainless  ;  that  is  only  my  blood ! 
My  name  I  have  preserved  unspotted ;  I  have  not  yielded 
in  spirit  —  though  bending  from  pain,  I  did  not  break." 

Here  ends  the  fragment  from  the  diary  of  Alexis 
Zdanoborski.  It  appears  from  this  short  chronicle  that 
that  "  unbroken  prince,"  who  would  not  become  a  Tartar 
equerry,  had  a  life  full  of  suffering.  In  accordance  with 
the  spirit  of  the  time  he  was  greatly  attached  to  his 
name.  With  Marysia,  as  is  evident  from  the  closing 
commentary,  he  was  separated  by  fate.  It  is  certain 
also  that  he  never  married.  Indeed,  it  is  proper  to  infer 
from  all,  that  this  noble  died  without  posterity,  and  was 
the  last  of  his  race. 


LET   US   FOLLOW   HIM. 


LET   US   FOLLOW   HIM. 


CHAPTEK  I. 

SEPTIMIUS  CINNA  was  a  Boman  patrician. 
He  had  spent  his  youth  in  the  legions  and  in  severe 
camp-life.  Later  he  returned  to  Eome  to  enjoy  glory, 
luxury,  and  a  great  though  somewhat  shattered  fortune. 
He  used  and  abused  at  that  time  everything  which  the 
gigantic  city  could  offer. 

His  nights  were  spent  at  feasts  in  lordly  suburban 
villas  ;  his  days  in  sword  practice  with  fencers,  in  dis- 
cussions with  rhetors  at  the  baths,  where  disputes  were 
held,  and  where  the  scandal  of  the  city  and  the  world 
was  related,  in  circuses,  at  races,  at  the  struggles  of  gladi- 
ators, or  among  Greek  musicians,  Thracian  soothsayers, 
and  wonderful  dancing-girls  from  the  islands  of  the 
Archipelago.  He  inherited  from  the  renowned  Lucul- 
lus,  a  relative  on  the  mother's  side,  a  love  for  exqui- 
site dishes.  At  his  table  were  served  Grecian  wines, 
Neapolitan  oysters,  Numidian  mice,  and  locust  fat  pre- 
served in  honey  from  Pontus. 

Whatever  Eome  possessed  Cinna  must  have,  beginning 
with  fish  of  the  Red  Sea,  and  ending  with  white  ptarmi- 
gans from  the  banks  of  the  Borysthenes  (Dnieper).  He 
made  use  of  things  not  only  as  a  soldier  run  riot,  but  as 
a  patrician  who  passes  the  measure.  He  had  instilled 
into  himself,  or  had  perhaps  even  roused  in  himself,  a 


220  LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM. 

love  for  the  beautiful,  —  a  love  for  statues  rescued  from 
the  ruins  of  Corinth,  for  pitchers  from  Attica,  for  Etrus- 
can vases  from  foggy  Sericum,  for  Roman  mosaics,  for 
fabrics  brought  from  the  Euphrates,  for  Arabian  perfumes, 
and  for  all  the  peculiar  trifles  which  filled  the  void  of 
patrician  life. 

He  knew  how  to  talk  of  these  trifles,  as  a  specialist  and 
connoisseur,  with  toothless  old  men,  who  decked  out  their 
baldness  in  wreaths  of  roses  when  going  to  a  feast,  and 
who  after  the  feast  chewed  heliotrope  blossoms  to  make 
the  breath  of  their  lungs  odoriferous.  He  felt  also  the 
beauty  of  Cicero's  periods,  and  of  verses  of  Horace  or 
Ovid. 

Educated  by  an  Athenian  rhetor,  he  conversed  in 
Greek  fluently ;  he  knew  whole  pages  of  the  "  Iliad  "  by 
heart,  and  during  a  feast  could  sing  odes  of  Anacreon  till 
he  had  grown  hoarse  or  drunk.  Through  his  master 
and  other  rhetors  he  had  rubbed  against  philosophy,  and 
become  sufficiently  acquainted  with  it  to  know  the  plans 
of  various  edifices  of  thought  reared  in  Hellas  and  the  col- 
onies ;  he  understood  too  that  all  these  edifices  were  in 
ruins.  He  knew  many  Stoics  personally ;  for  these  he 
cherished  dislike,  since  he  looked  on  them  rather  as  a 
political  party,  and,  besides,  as  hypochondriacs,  hostile 
to  joyous  living.  Sceptics  had  a  seat  frequently  at  his 
table ;  and  during  intervals  between  courses  they  over- 
turned entire  systems,  and  announced  at  their  cups,  filled 
with  wine,  that  pleasure  was  vanity,  truth  something  un- 
attainable, and  that  the  object  of  a  sage  could  be  only 
dead  rest. 

All  this  struck  Cinna's  ears  without  piercing  to  the 
depth.  He  recognized  no  principle,  and  would  have  none. 
In  Cato  he  saw  the  union  of  great  character  and  great 
folly.  He  looked  on  life  as  a  sea,  on  which  winds  blew 


LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM.  221 

whithersoever  they  listed ;  and  wisdom  in  his  eyes  was 
the  art  of  setting  sails  in  such  fashion  that  they  would 
urge  one's  boat  forward.  He  esteemed  his  own  broad 
shoulders  and  sound  stomach  ;  he  esteemed  his  own  beau- 
tiful Eoman  head,  with  his  aquiline  nose  and  powerful 
jaws.  He  was  certain  that  with  these  he  could  pass 
through  life  somehow. 

Though  not  belonging  to  the  school  of  Sceptics,  he 
was  a  practical  Sceptic  and  hence  a  lover  of  pleasure, 
though  he  knew  that  pleasure  was  not  happiness.  The 
genuine  teaching  of  Epicurus  he  did  not  know ;  hence  he 
considered  himself  an  Epicurean.  In  general  he  looked 
on  philosophy  as  mental  fencing,  as  useful  as  that  which 
was  taught  by  the  sword-master.  When  discourses  on  it 
wearied  him,  he  went  to  the  circus  to  see  blood. 

He  did  not  believe  in  the  gods  any  more  than  in  virtue, 
truth,  and  happiness.  He  believed  only  in  soothsaying, 
and  had  his  own  superstitions ;  moreover,  the  mysterious 
beliefs  of  the  Orient  roused  his  curiosity.  To  slaves  he  was 
a  good  master,  unless  when  occasional  tedium  brought  him 
to  cruelty.  He  thought  life  a  great  amphora,  which  was 
the  more  valuable  the  better  the  wine  contained  in  it ;  hence 
he  tried  to  fill  his  own  with  the  best.  He  did  not  love  any 
one ;  but  he  loved  many  things,  among  others  his  own  eagle- 
like  face  with  splendid  skull,  and  his  shapely  patrician 
foot. 

In  the  first  years  of  his  frolicking  life  he  loved  also  to 
astound  Borne,  and  succeeded  a  number  of  times.  Later 
he  grew  as  indifferent  to  that  as  to  other  things. 


222  LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM. 


CHAPTEE   II. 

AT  last  he  ruined  himself.  His  creditors  tore  his 
property  to  pieces,  and  in  place  of  it  there  remained 
to  Cinna  weariness,  as  after  great  toil,  satiety,  and  one 
more  unexpected  thing,  a  certain  deep  disquiet.  He  had 
tried  wealth ;  he  had  tried  love,  as  that  age  understood  it ; 
he  had  tried  pleasure,  military  glory,  and  dangers.  He  had 
come  to  know  the  limits  of  human  thought  more  or  less ; 
he  had  come  in  contact  with  poetry  and  art.  Hence  he 
might  suppose  that  from  life  he  had  taken  what  it 
had  to  give.  Now  he  felt  as  though  he  had  overlooked 
something — and  that  the  most  important.  But  he  did 
not  know  what  it  was,  and  tortured  his  head  over  this 
problem  in  vain.  More  than  once  had  he  striven  to  shake 
himself  out  of  these  thoughts,  and  out  of  this  disquiet. 
He  had  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  there  was  nothing 
more  in  life,  and  could  not  be ;  but  straightway  his  dis- 
quiet, instead  of  diminishing,  increased  quickly  to  such  a 
degree  that  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  disquieted  not 
only  for  himself,  but  for  all  Rome.  He  envied  the  Scep- 
tics and  also  considered  them  fools,  for  they  insisted 
that  one  may  fill  completely  the  void  with  the  empty. 
There  existed  in  him  then  two  men,  as  it  were,  one  of  whom 
was  astonished  at  the  disquiet  which  he  felt,  while  the 
other  was  forced  to  recognize  it  as  perfectly  normal. 

Soon  after  the  loss  of  his  property,  thanks  to  great  fam- 
ily influence,  Cinna  was  sent  to  an  official  post  in  Alex- 
andria, partly  to  build  up  a  new  fortune  in  a  rich  country. 
His  disquiet  entered  the  ship  at  Brundisium,  and  sailed 
across  the  sea  with  him.  In  Alexandria  Cinna  thought 
that  questions  concerning  office,  new  people,  another 


LET   US  FOLLOW  HIM.  223 

society,  new  impressions,  would  relieve  him  of  the  intru- 
sive companion.  But  he  was  mistaken. 

Two  months  passed,  and  just  as  the  grain  of  Derneter, 
brought  from  Italy,  grew  still  more  luxuriantly  in  the 
rich  soil  of  the  Delta,  so  his  disquiet  from  a  sturdy  twig 
changed,  as  it  were,  into  a  spreading  cedar,  and  began  to 
cast  a  still  greater  shadow  on  the  soul  of  Cinna. 

At  first  he  strove  to  free  himself  of  this  shadow  by  the 
same  life  that  he  had  led  in  Eome  formerly.  Alexandria 
was  a  place  of  pleasure,  full  of  Grecian  women  with  golden 
hair  and  clear  complexions,  which  the  Egyptian  sun 
covered  with  a  transparent,  amber  lustre.  In  their  soci- 
ety he  sought  rest. 

But  when  this  also  proved  vain  he  began  to  think  of 
suicide.  Many  of  his  comrades  had  freed  themselves 
from  life's  cares  in  that  manner,  and  for  causes  still  more 
foolish  than  those  which  Cinna  had,  —  frequently  from 
weariness  alone,  from  the  emptiness  of  life,  or  a  lack  of 
desire  to  make  further  use  of  it.  When  a  slave  held  a 
sword  adroitly  and  with  sufficient  strength,  one  instant 
ended  all.  Cinna  caught  at  this  idea;  but  when  he  had 
almost  resolved  to  obey  it,  a  wonderful  dream  held  him 
back.  Behold,  it  seemed  to  him  that  when  he  was  borne 
across  the  river 1  he  saw  on  the  other  bank  his  disquiet  in 
the  form  of  a  wretched  slave  ;  it  bowed  to  him,  saying,  "  I 
have  come  in  advance  to  receive  thee."  Cinna  was  terri- 
fied for  the  first  time  in  life ;  because  he  understood  that 
if  he  could  not  think  of  existence  beyond  the  grave  with- 
out disquiet,  then  they  would  both  go  there. 

In  this  extreme,  he  resolved  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  sages  with  whom  the  Serapeum  was  crowded,  judging 
that  among  them  perhaps  he  might  find  the  solution  of  his 
riddle.  They,  it  is  true,  were  unable  to  solve  any  doubt 

i  Styx.      • 


224  LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM. 

of  his ;  but  to  make  up  they  entitled  him  "  of  the  museum," 
which  title  they  offered  usually  to  Koruans  of  high  birth 
and  position.  That  was  small  consolation  at  first;  and 
the  stamp  of  sage,  given  a  man  who  could  not  explain 
that  which  concerned  him  most  highly,  might  seem  to 
Cinna  ironical.  He  supposed,  however,  that  the  Sera- 
peum  did  not  reveal  all  its  wisdom  at  once,  perhaps ;  and 
he  did  not  lose  hope  altogether. 

The  most  active  sage  in  Alexandria  was  the  noble 
Timon  of  Athens,  a  man  of  wealth,  and  a  Eoman  citizen. 
He  had  lived  a  number  of  years  in  Alexandria,  whither 
he  had  come  to  sound  the  depths  of  Egyptian  science. 
It  was  said  of  him  that  there  was  no  parchment  or 
papyrus  in  the  Library  which  he  had  not  read,  and  that 
he  possessed  all  the  wisdom  of  mankind.  He  was,  more- 
over, mild  and  forbearing.  Cinna  distinguished  him  at 
once  among  the  multitude  of  pedants  and  commentators 
with  stiffened  brains,  and  soon  formed  with  him  an 
acquaintance  which,  after  a  time,  was  changed  into  close 
intimacy,  and  even  into  friendship.  The  young  Roman 
admired  the  dialectic  skill,  the  eloquence  and  dignity, 
with  which  the  old  man  spoke  of  lofty  themes  touching 
man's  destiny,  and  that  of  the  world.  He  was  struck 
especially  by  this,  that  that  dignity  was  joined  to  a  cer- 
tain sadness.  Later,  when  they  had  grown  more  intimate, 
Cinna  was  seized  frequently  by  the  wish  to  inquire  of  the 
old  sage  the  cause  of  that  sadness,  and  to  open  his  own 
heart  to  him.  In  fact,  it  came  to  that  finally. 


LET  US   FOLLOW   HIM.  225 


CHAPTEE   III. 

ACEETAIN  evening,  after  animated  discussions  about 
the  transmigration  of  souls,  they  remained  alone 
on  the  terrace,  from  which  the  view  was  toward  the  sea. 
Cinna,  taking  Timon's  hand,  declared  openly  what  the 
great  torment  of  his  life  was,  and  why  he  had  striven  to 
approach  the  scholars  and  philosophers  of  the  Serapeum. 

"  I  have  gained  this  much  at  least,"  said  he ;  "I  have 
learned  to  know  you,  0  Timon,  and  I  understand  now  that 
if  you  cannot  solve  my  life's  riddle,  no  other  man  can." 

Timon  gazed  for  a  time  at  the  smooth  surface  of  the 
sea,  in  which  the  new  moon  was  reflected ;  then  he  said, — 

"  Hast  thou  seen  those  flocks  of  birds,  Cinna,  which  fly 
past  here  in  winter  from  northern  glooms  ?  Dost  thou 
know  what  they  seek  in  Egypt  ? " 

"  I  do.     Warmth  and  light." 

"  Souls  of  men  also  seek  warmth,  which  is  love,  and 
light,  which  means  truth.  The  birds  know  whither  they 
are  flying  for  their  good ;  but  souls  are  flying  over  road- 
less places,  in  wandering,  in  sadness,  and  disquiet." 

"  Why  can  they  not  find  the  road,  noble  Timon  ? " 

"  Once  man's  repose  was  in  the  gods ;  to-day,  faith  in 
the  gods  is  burnt  out,  like  oil  in  a  lamp.  Men  thought 
that  to  souls  philosophy  would  be  the  light  of  truth; 
to-day,  as  thou  knowest  best  of  all,  on  its  ruins  in  Eome 
and  in  the  Academy  in  Athens,  and  here,  sit  Sceptics, 
to  whom  it  seemed  that  it  was  bringing  in  peace,  but 
it  brought  in  disquiet.  For  to  renounce  light  and 
heat  is  to  leave  the  soul  in  darkness,  which  is  disquiet. 
Hence,  stretching  out  our  hands  before  us,  we  seek  an 
exit  in  groping." 

15 


226  LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM. 

"  Hast  thou  not  found  it  ? " 

"  I  have  sought,  and  I  have  not  found  it.  Thou  hast 
sought  it  in  pleasure,  I  in  thought ;  and  the  same  mist 
encircles  us.  Know  then  that  not  thou  alone  art  suffer- 
ing, but  in  thee  the  soul  of  the  world  is  tortured.  Is  it 
long  since  thou  hast  ceased  to  believe  in  the  gods  ? " 

"At  Eome  they  are  honored  publicly  yet,  and  even 
new  ones  are  brought  from  Asia  and  Egypt ;  but  no 
one  believes  in  them  sincerely,  except  dealers  in  vege- 
tables, who  come  in  the  morning  from  the  country  to 
the  city." 

"  And  these  are  the  only  people  who  live  in  peace." 

"  They  are  like  those  who  bow  down  here  to  cats  and 
onions." 

"  Just  like  those,  who,  in  the  manner  of  beasts,  ask  for 
nothing  beyond  sleep  after  eating." 

"  But  is  life  worth  the  living  in  view  of  this  ? " 

"Do  I  know  what  death  will  bring  ? " 

"  What  is  the  difference,  then,  between  thee  and  the 
Sceptics  ? " 

"Sceptics  are  satisfied  with  darkness,  or  feign  that 
they  are  satisfied,  but  I  suffer  in  it." 

"And  thou  seest  no  salvation  ?" 

Timon  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  answered 
slowly,  as  if  with  hesitation,  — 

"  I  wait  for  it." 

"  Whence  ? " 

"  I  know  not." 

Then  he  rested  his  head  on  the  palm  of  his  hand ;  and 
as  if  under  the  influence  of  that  silence  which  had  settled 
down  on  the  terrace,  he  began  to  speak  in  a  low  and 
measured  voice,  — 

"  A  wonderful  thing ;  but  at  times  it  seems  to  me  that 
if  the  world  contained  nothing  beyond  that  which  we 


LET  US  FOLLOW  HIM.  227 

know,  and  if  we  could  be  nothing  more  than  we  are,  this 
disquiet  would  not  exist  in  us.  So  in  this  sickness  I 
find  hope  of  health.  Faith  in  Olympus  and  philosophy 
are  dead,  but  health  may  be  some  new  truth  which  I 
know  not." 

Beyond  expectation,  that  talk  brought  great  solace  to 
Cinua.  When  he  heard  that  the  whole  world  was  sick, 
and  not  he  alone,  he  felt  as  if  some  one  had  taken  a 
great  weight  from  him  and  distributed  it  on  a  thousand 
shoulders. 


CHAPTEE   IV. 

FEOM  that  time  the  friendship  uniting  Cinna  and  the 
old  Greek  became  still  more  intimate.  They  visited 
each  other  frequently  and  exchanged  thoughts,  like  bread 
in  time  of  a  banquet.  Besides,  Cinna,  in  spite  of  experi- 
ence and  the  weariness  which  comes  of  use,  had  not 
reached  the  age  yet  when  life  has  ceased  to  contain  the 
charm  of  unknown  things  ;  and  just  this  charrn  he  found 
in  Antea,  Timon's  only  daughter. 

Her  fame  was  not  less  in  Alexandria  than  the  fame  of 
her  father.  Eminent  Eomans  frequenting  Timon's  house 
did  her  homage,  Greeks  did  her  homage,  philosophers 
from  the  Serapeum  did  her  homage,  and  so  did  the 
people.  Timon  did  not  restrict  her  to  the  gineceum,  after 
the  manner  of  other  women ;  and  he  tried  to  transfer  to 
her  everything  that  he  himself  knew.  When  she  had 
passed  the  years  of  childhood,  he  read  Greek  books  with 
her,  and  even  Latin  and  Hebrew ;  for,  gifted  with  an 
uncommon  memory,  and  reared  in  many-tongued  Alex- 
andria, she  learned  those  languages  quickly.  She  was  a 


228  LET   US   FOLLOW  HIM. 

companion  to  him  in  thoughts  ;  she  took  frequent  part  in 
the  discussions  which  were  held  in  Timon's  house  during 
Symposiums.  Often  in  the  labyrinth  of  difficult  ques- 
tions, she  was  able,  like  Ariadne,  to  avoid  going  astray 
herself  and  to  extricate  others.  Her  father  honored  and 
admired  her.  The  charm  of  mystery  and  almost  of 
sacredness  surrounded  her,  besides ;  for  she  had  prophetic 
dreams,  in  which  she  saw  things  invisible  to  common 
mortals.  The  old  sage  loved  her  as  his  own  soul,  and  the 
more  for  this  reason,  that  he  was  afraid  of  losing  her ;  for 
frequently  she  said  that  beings  appeared  in  dreams  to 
her,  —  ominous  beings,  —  also  a  certain  divine  light,  and 
she  knew  not  whether  this  light  was  the  source  of  life  or 
death. 

Meanwhile  she  was  met  only  by  love.  The  Egyptians, 
who  frequented  Timon's  house,  called  her  the  Lotus;  per- 
haps because  that  flower  received  divine  honor  on  the 
banks  of  the  Nile,  and  perhaps  also  because  whoever  saw 
it  might  forget  the  whole  world  besides. 

Her  beauty  was  equal  to  her  wisdom.  The  Egyptian 
sun  did  not  darken  her  face,  in  which  the  rosy  rays  of 
light  seemed  to  be  enclosed  in  transparent  mother-of- 
pearl.  Her  eyes  had  the  blueness  of  the  Nile,  and  their 
glances  flowed  from  a  remoteness  as  unknown  as  the 
source  of  that  mysterious  river.  When  Cinna  saw  and 
heard  her  the  first  time,  on  returning  home,  he  conceived 
the  wish  to  rear  an  altar  to  her  in  the  atrium  of  his  house, 
and  offer  a  white  dove  on  it.  He  had  met  thousands  of 
women  in  his  life,  beginning  with  virgins  from  the  re- 
mote north,  with  white  eyelashes  and  hair  the  color  of 
ripe  wheat,  and  ending  with  Numidians,  black  as  lava ; 
but  he  had  not  met  hitherto  such  a  figure,  or  such  a  soul. 
And  the  oftener  he  saw  her,  the  better  he  knew  her,  the 
oftener  it  happened  to  him  to  hear  her  words,  the  more 


LET   US   FOLLOW   HIM.  229 

did  amazement  increase  in  him.  Sometimes  he,  who  did 
not  believe  in  the  gods,  thought  that  Antea  could  not  be 
the  daughter  of  Timon,  but  of  a  god,  hence  only  half 
woman,  and  therefore  half  immortal. 

And  soon  he  loved  her  with  a  love  unexpected,  im- 
mense, irresistible,  as  different  from  the  feeling  which  he 
had  known  up  to  that  time  as  Autea  was  different  from 
other  women.  He  desired  to  love  her  only  to  do  her 
honor.  Hence  he  was  willing  to  give  blood  to  possess 
her.  He  felt  that  he  would  prefer  to  be  a  beggar  with 
her  than  to  be  Csesar  without  her.  And  as  a  whirlpool 
of  the  sea  sweeps  away  with  irresistible  might  all  that 
comes  within  its  circle,  so  Cinna's  love  swept  away  his 
soul,  his  heart,  his  thoughts,  his  days,  his  nights,  and 
everything  out  of  which  life  is  composed. 

Till  at  last  it  swept  away  Antea. 

"  Tu  felix  (Thou  art  happy),  Cinna ! "  said  his  friends. 

"  Tu  felix,  Cinna,"  said  he  to  himself ;  and  when  at 
last  he  married  her,  when  her  divine  lips  uttered  the 
sacramental  words,  "  Where  thou  art  Caius,  there  am  I, 
Caia,"  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  felicity  was  like  the  sea, 
—  inexhaustible  and  boundless. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  YEAR  passed,  and  that  young  wife  received  at  her 
-/A-  domestic  hearth  almost  divine  honor;  to  her  hus- 
band she  was  the  sight  of  his  eyes,  love,  wisdom,  light. 
But  Cinna,  comparing  his  happiness  with  the  sea,  forgot 
that  the  sea  has  its  ebbs. 

After  a  year  Antea  fell  into  an  illness  cruel  and  un- 
known. Her  dreams  changed  into  terrible  visions,  which 
exhausted  her  life.  In  her  face  the  rays  of  light  were 


230  LET   US    FOLLOW   HIM. 

quenched ;  there  remained  only  the  paleness  of  mother-of- 
pearl.  Her  hands  began  to  be  transparent;  her  eyes  sank 
deeply  under  her  forehead ;  and  the  rosy  lotus  became 
more  and  more  a  white  lotus,  white  as  the  face  of  the 
dead.  It  was  noticed  that  falcons  began  to  circle  above 
Cinna's  house,  which  in  Egypt  was  a  herald  of  death. 
The  visions  grew  more  and  more  terrible. 

When  at  midday  the  sun  filled  the  world  with  bright 
light,  and  the  city  was  buried  in  silence,  it  seemed  to 
Antea  that  she  heard  around  her  the  quick  steps  of  in- 
visible beings,  and  in  the  depth  of  the  air  she  saw  a 
dry,  yellow,  corpse-like  face  gazing  with  black  eyes  at 
her.  Those  eyes  gazed  persistently,  as  if  summoning  her 
to  go  somewhere  into  a  darkness  full  of  mysteries  and 
dread.  Then  Antea's  body  began  to  tremble,  as  in  a 
fever ;  her  forehead  was  covered  with  pallor,  with  drops  of 
cold  sweat;  and  that  honored  priestess  of  the  domestic 
hearth  was  changed  into  a  helpless  and  terrified  child, 
who,  hiding  on  her  husband's  breast,  repeated  with  pale 
lips,  - 

"  Save  me,  O  Caius  !  defend  me  ! " 

And  Caius  would  have  hurled  himself  at  every  spectre 
which  Persephone  might  send  from  the  nether  world,  but 
in  vain  did  he  strain  his  eyes  into  space  round  about. 
As  is  usual  in  midday  hours,  it  was  lonely.  White  light 
filled  the  city  ;  the  sea  seemed  to  burn  in  the  sun,  and  in 
the  silence  was  heard  only  the  calling  of  falcons  circling 
above  the  house. 

The  visions  grew  more  and  more  frequent,  and  at  last 
they  came  daily.  They  pursued  Antea  in  the  interior  of 
the  house,  as  well  as  in  the  atrium  and  the  chambers. 
China,  by  advice  of  physicians,  brought  in  Egyptian 
sambuka  players,  and  Bedouins,  blowing  clay  whistles ; 
the  noisy  music  of  these  was  to  drown  the  sound  made 


LET   US    FOLLOW   HIM.  231 

by  the  invisible  beings.  But  all  this  proved  futile.  Antea 
heard  the  sound  amid  the  greatest  uproar ;  and  when  the 
sun  became  so  high  that  a  man's  shadow  was  near  his 
feet,  like  a  garment  hanging  from  the  arm,  in  the  air 
quivering  from  heat  appeared  the  face  of  the  corpse,  and 
looking  at  Antea  with  glassy  eyes  it  moved  away  gradu- 
ally, as  if  to  say,  "  Follow  me ! " 

Sometimes  it  seemed  to  Antea  that  the  lips  of  the 
corpse  moved  slowly ;  sometimes  that  black  disgusting 
beetles  came  out  from  between  them  and  flew  through 
the  air  toward  her.  At  the  very  thought  of  that  vision 
her  eyes  were  filled  with  terror,  and  at  last  life  became 
such  a  dreadful  torture  that  she  begged  Cinna  to  hold  a 
sword  for  her,  or  to  let  her  drink  poison. 

But  he  knew  that  he  had  not  strength  for  the  deed. 
With  that  very  sword  he  would  have  opened  his  own  veins 
to  serve  Antea,  but  he  could  not  take  her  life.  When  he 
imagined  that  dear  face  of  hers  dead,  with  closed  eyes, 
filled  with  icy  composure,  and  that  breast  opened  with  his 
sword,  he  felt  that  he  must  go  mad  before  he  could  kill  her. 

A  certain  Greek  physician  told  him  that  Hecate  ap- 
peared to  Antea,  and  that  those  invisible  beings  whose 
noise  frightened  the  sick  woman  were  the  attendants  of 
the  ominous  divinity.  According  to  him,  there  was  no 
salvation  for  Antea,  for  whoso  has  seen  Hecate  must  die. 

Then  Cinna,  who  not  long  before  would  have  laughed 
at  faith  in  Hecate,  sacrificed  a  hecatomb  to  her.  But  the 
sacrifice  was  useless,  and  next  day  the  gloomy  eyes  were 
gazing  at  Antea  about  midday. 

Attendants  covered  her  head ;  but  she  saw  the  face 
even  through  the  thickest  covering.  Then  they  confined 
her  in  a  dark  room ;  the  face  looked  at  her  from  the 
walls,  illuminating  the  darkness  with  its  pale  gleam  of 
a  corpse. 


23*  LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM. 

Every  evening  the  sick  woman  grew  better,  and  fell 
into  such  a  deep  sleep  that  to  Cinna  and  Timon  it  seemed 
more  than  once  as  though  she  would  not  wake  again. 
Soon  she  grew  so  weak  that  she  could  not  walk  without 
assistance.  She  was  borne  about  in  a  litter. 

Cinna's  former  disquiet  returned  with  a  hundredfold 
greater  force  and  took  complete  possession  of  him. 
He  was  terrified  regarding  the  life  of  Autea ;  but  there 
was  also  a  wonderful  feeling  that  her  sickness  was  in 
some  way  mysteriously  connected  with  that  of  which 
he  had  spoken  in  his  first  conversation  with  Timon. 
Perhaps  the  old  sage  had  the  same  thought ;  but  Cinna 
would  not  ask  him,  and  feared  to  talk  concerning  this 
matter. 

Meanwhile  the  sick  woman  withered  like  a  flower  in 
whose  cup  a  poisonous  spider  has  settled. 

But  the  despairing  Cinua  strove  against  hope  to  save 
her.  First  he  took  her  to  the  desert  near  Memphis ;  but 
when  a  stay  in  the  quiet  of  the  pyramids  gave  no  respite 
from  the  dreadful  visions,  he  returned  to  Alexandria  and 
surrounded  her  with  soothsayers,  who  professed  to  en- 
chant away  diseases.  He  brought  in  from  every  kind  of 
shameless  rabble  people  who  exploited  the  credulity  of 
mankind  by  marvellous  medicines.  But  he  had  no  choice 
left,  and  snatched  at  every  method. 

At  this  time  there  came  from  Ca?sarea  a  renowned 
physician,  a  Hebrew,  Joseph,  son  of  Khuza.  Cinna 
brought  him  at  once  to  his  wife,  and  for  a  time  hope  re- 
turned to  his  heart.  Joseph,  who  had  no  faith  in  Greek 
and  Roman  gods,  rejected  contemptuously  the  opinion 
about  Hecate.  He  supposed  it  more  likely  that  demons 
had  entered  the  sick  woman,  and  advised  Cinna  to  leave 
Egypt,  where,  in  addition  to  demons,  marshy  effluvia  of 
the  Delta  might  injure  Antea.  He  advised  also,  perhaps 


LET   US   FOLLOW   HIM.  233 

because  he  was  a  Hebrew,  to  go  to  Jerusalem,  —  a  place 
where  demons  have  no  entrance,  and  where  the  air  is  dry 
and  wholesome. 

Cinna  followed  this  advice  the  more  willingly,  —  first, 
because  there  was  no  other,  and  second,  because  Jerusa- 
lem was  governed  by  an  acquaintance  of  his,  a  procurator 
whose  ancestors  were  formerly  clients  of  the  house  of 
Cinna. 

In  fact,  when  they  came,  the  procurator,  Pontius,  re- 
ceived them  with  open  arms  and  gave  them  as  dwelling 
his  own  summer  residence,  which  stood  near  the  walls 
of  the  city.  But  Cinna's  hope  was  swept  away  before 
his  arrival.  The  corpse-like  face  looked  at  Antea  even 
on  the  deck  of  the  galley ;  on  coming  to  the  city  the 
sick  woman  waited  for  midday  with  the  same  deathly 
terror  as  on  a  time  in  Alexandria. 

And  so  their  days  began  to  pass  in  oppression,  despair, 
and  fear  of  death. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  the  atrium,  in  spite  of  the  fountain,  the  shady  por- 
tico, and  the  early  hour,  it  was  extremely  hot,  for  the 
marble  was  heated  by  the  spring  sun ;  but  at  a  distance 
from  the  house  there  grew  an  old,  branching  pistachio- 
tree,  which  shaded  a  considerable  area  round  about.  As 
the  place  was  open,  the  breeze  there  was  far  greater  than 
elsewhere;  hence  Cinna  commanded  to  carry  to  that  spot 
the  litter,  decked  with  hyacinths  and  apple-blossoms,  in 
which  Antea  was  resting.  Then  sitting  near  her,  he 
placed  his  palm  on  her  hands,  which  were  as  pale  as  ala- 
baster, and  asked,  — 

"  Is  it  pleasant  for  thee  here,  carissima  ? " 


234  LET   US   FOLLOW   HIM. 

"  Pleasant,"  answered  she,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice. 

And  she  closed  her  eyes,  as  if  sleep  had  seized  her. 
Silence  followed.  Only  the  breeze  moved  with  a  rustling 
the  branches  of  the  pistachio-tree ;  and  on  the  earth 
around  the  litter  were  quivering  golden  spots,  formed  of 
sun-rays,  which  broke  through  between  the  leaves  ;  locusts 
were  hissing  among  the  rocks. 

The  sick  woman  opened  her  eyes  after  a  moment. 

"  Caius,"  said  she,  "is  it  true  that  in  this  country  a 
philosopher  has  appeared,  who  cures  the  sick  ? " 

"They  call  such  men  prophets  here,"  answered  China. 
"  I  have  heard  of  him,  and  I  wished  to  bring  him  to 
thee,  but  it  turned  out  that  he  was  a  false  miracle-worker. 
Besides,  he  blasphemed  against  the  sanctuary  and  the 
religion  of  this  country ;  hence  the  procurator  has  deliv- 
ered him  to  death,  and  this  very  day  he  is  to  be  crucified." 

Antea  dropped  her  head. 

"  Time  will  cure  thee,"  said  Cinna,  seeing  the  sadness 
reflected  on  her  face. 

"  Time  is  at  the  service  of  death,  not  of  life,"  answered 
she,  slowly. 

And  again  silence  ensued ;  round  about  the  golden 
spots  quivered  continually  ;  the  locusts  hissed  still  more 
loudly,  and  from  the  crannies  of  the  cliff  little  lizards 
crept  out  onto  stones,  and  sought  sunny  places. 

Cinna  looked  from  moment  to  moment  at  Antea,  and 
for  the  thousandth  time  despairing  thoughts  flew  through 
his  head.  He  felt  that  all  means  of  salvation  had  been 
spent,  that  there  was  no  ray  of  hope,  that  soon  the  dear 
form  before  him  would  become  a  vanishing  shadow  and 
a  handful  of  dust  in  a  columbarium. 

Even  now  while  lying  with  closed  eyes  in  the  litter 
decked  with  flowers,  she  seemed  dead. 

"  I  will  follow  thee  !  "  said  Cinna,  in  his  soul. 


LET   US   FOLLOW   HIM.  235 

Meanwhile  steps  were  heard  in  the  distance.  Immedi- 
ately Antea's  face  became  white  as  chalk ;  from  between 
her  half-open  lips  came  hurried  breathing ;  her  bosom 
heaved  quickly.  The  ill-fated  martyr  felt  sure  that  the 
crowd  of  invisible  beings  which  preceded  the  corpse  with 
glassy  eyes  were  drawing  near.  Cinna  seized  her  hands 
and  strove  to  pacify  her. 

"  Fear  not,  Antea ;  I  hear  those  steps  too.  That  is 
Pontius,  who  is  coming  to  visit  us,"  added  he,  after  a 
while.  In  fact,  the  procurator,  attended  by  two  slaves, 
appeared  at  the  turn  of  the  path.  He  was  a  man  no 
longer  young ;  he  had  an  oval  face  carefully  shaven,  full 
of  assumed  dignity,  and  also  of  suffering  and  care. 

"  A  greeting  to  thee,  noble  Cinna,  and  to  thee,  divine 
Antea ! "  said  he,  as  he  came  under  the  shade  of  the 
pistachio-tree.  "  After  a  cold  night  the  day  has  grown 
hot.  May  it  favor  you  both,  and  may  the  health  of 
Antea  bloom  like  those  hyacinths  and  those  apple-tree 
twigs,  which  adorn  her  litter." 

"  Peace  be  with  thee,  and  be  greeted  !  "  answered  Cinna. 

The  procurator  seated  himself  on  a  piece  of  rock, 
looked  at  Antea,  frowned  imperceptibly,  and  answered, — 

"  Loneliness  produces  sadness  and  sickness ;  but  in  the 
midst  of  crowds  there  is  no  place  for  fear,  hence  I  will 
give  one  advice  to  thee.  Unfortunately  this  is  neither 
Antioch  nor  Cassarea ;  there  are  no  games  here,  no  horse- 
races ;  and  were  we  to  erect  a  circus,  those  madmen  would 
tear  it  down  the  next  day.  Here  thou  wilt  hear  nothing 
but  this  phrase,  'the  law,'  and  everything  disturbs  that 
law.  I  would  rather  be  in  Scythia." 

"Of  what  dost  thou  wish  to  speak,  0  Pilate  ? " 

"  Indeed,  I  have  wandered  from  my  subject ;  but  cares 
are  the  cause  of  this.  I  have  said  that  among  crowds 
there  is  no  room  for  fear.  Now  ye  can  have  a  spectacle 


236  LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM. 

to-day.  In  Jerusalem,  ye  should  be  amused  with  some- 
thing ;  above  all,  Antea  should  be  in  the  midst  of  crowds 
at  midday.  Three  men  will  die  on  the  cross  to-day ; 
that  is  better  than  nothing !  Because  of  the  Pasch  a 
mob  of  the  strangest  ruffians  has  come  from  out  all  this 
land  to  the  city.  Ye  can  look  at  those  people.  I  will 
command  to  give  you  a  place  apart  near  the  crosses.  I 
hope  that  the  condemned  will  die  bravely.  One  of  them 
is  a  marvellous  person  :  he  calls  himself  the  Son  of  God  ; 
he  is  as  mild  as  a  dove,  and  has  really  done  nothing  to 
merit  death." 

"  And  didst  thou  condemn  him  to  the  cross  ? " 
"  I  wanted  to  rid  myself  of  trouble,  and  also  avoid  stir- 
ring up  that  nest  of  hornets  that  buzz  around  the  temple  ; 
even  as  it  is,  they  send  complaints  to  Kome  against  me. 
Besides,  the  accused  is  not  a  Eoman  citizen." 
"The  man  will  not  suffer  less  for  that  reason." 
The  procurator  made  no  answer,  but  after  a  while  he 
began  to  speak,  as  if  to  himself,  — 

"  There  is  one  thing  that  I  do  not  like,  —  exaggeration. 
Whoever  uses  that  word  before  me  takes  away  my  cheer- 
fulness for  the  day.  The  golden  mean !  that  is  what 
wisdom  commands  us  to  follow,  as  I  think.  And  there 
is  not  a  corner  of  the  world  in  which  that  principle  is 
less  respected  than  here.  How  all  this  tortures  me ! 
how  it  tortures  me !  In  nothing  is  there  repose,  in 
nothing  balance,  —  neither  in  men  nor  in  nature.  At 
present,  for  example,  it  is  spring ;  the  nights  are  cold ; 
but  during  the  day  there  is  such  heat  that  it  is  difficult  to 
walk  on  stones.  It  is  long  yet  till  midday,  and  see  what 
is  happening  !  Of  the  people  —  better  not  speak  !  I  am 
here,  because  I  must  be  here.  Never  mind  that !  I  might 
leave  my  subject  a  second  time.  Go  to  witness  the  cruci- 
fixion. I  am  convinced  that  that  Nazarene  will  die 


LET  US  FOLLOW  HIM.  237 

valiantly.  I  gave  command  to  flog  him,  thinking  in  that 
way  to  save  him  from  death.  I  am  not  cruel.  "When 
he  was  lashed  he  was  as  patient  as  a  lamb,  and  he  blessed 
the  people.  When  he  was  covered  with  blood,  he  raised 
his  eyes  and  prayed.  That  is  the  most  marvellous  person 
that  I  have  seen  in  my  life.  My  wife  has  not  given  me 
a  moment  of  peace  because  of  him.  '  Permit  not  the 
death  of  that  innocent  man  ! '  this  is  what  she  has  been 
dinning  into  my  ears  since  daybreak.  I  wanted  to  save 
him.  Twice  I  went  to  the  bema  and  spoke  to  those 
priests  and  that  mangy  rabble.  They  answered  in  one 
voice,  raising  their  heads  and  opening  their  jaws  to  the 
ears,  '  Crucify  him  ! ' ' 

"  Didst  th-ou  yield  to  them  ?  "  asked  Cinna. 

"  I  did,  for  in  the  city  there  would  be  mobs,  and  I  am 
here  to  keep  peace.  I  must  do  my  duty.  I  dislike  ex- 
aggeration, and,  besides,  I  am  mortally  wearied ;  but  when 
I  undertake  a  thing,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  sacrifice  the  life 
of  one  man  for  the  general  welfare,  especially  when  he 
is  an  unknown  person  whom  no  one  will  mention.  All 
the  worse  for  him  that  he  is  not  a  Roman." 

"  The  sun  shines  not  on  Rome  alone,"  whispered  Antea. 

"  Divine  Antea,"  answered  the  procurator,  "  I  might 
answer  that  on  the  whole  round  of  the  earth  the  sun  shines 
on  Roman  rule ;  therefore  for  the  good  of  that  rule  it  is 
proper  to  sacrifice  everything,  and  disturbances  under- 
mine our  authority.  But,  above  all,  I  beg  of  thee  not  to 
ask  me  to  change  the  sentence.  Cinna  will  tell  thee 
that  that  cannot  be,  and  that,  once  sentence  is  pronounced, 
Caesar  alone  can  change  it.  Though  I  wished,  I  have 
not  the  power  to  change.  Is  that  not  the  case,  Gains  ? " 

"  It  is." 

But  those  words  caused  Antea  evident  pain,  for  she 
said,  thinking  of  herself,  perhaps,  — 


238  LET  US   FOLLOW   HIM. 

"  Then  it  is  possible  to  suffer  and  die  without  being 
guilty." 

"  No  one  is  without  guilt,"  answered  Pontius.  "  This 
Nazarene  has  committed  no  crime ;  hence  I,  as  procu- 
rator, washed  my  hands.  But  as  a  man,  I  condemn  his 
teaching.  I  conversed  with  him  purposely  rather  long, 
wishing  to  test  the  man,  and  convinced  myself  that  he 
announces  monstrous  things.  The  case  is  difficult !  The 
world  must  stand  on  sound  sense.  Who  denies  that 
virtue  is  needed  ?  Certainly  not  I.  But  even  the 
Stoics  only  teach  men  to  endure  opposition  with  calm- 
ness ;  they  do  not  insist  that  we  should  renounce  every- 
thing, from  our  property  to  our  dinner.  Answer,  Cinna, 
—  thou  art  a  man  of  sound  judgment,  —  what  wouldst 
thou  think  of  me  were  I,  neither  from  one  cause  nor 
another,  to  bestow  this  house  in  which  thou  art  dwelling 
on  those  tattered  fellows  who  warm  themselves  in  the 
sun  at  the  Joppa  gate  ?  And  he  insists  on  just  such 
things.  Besides,  he  says  that  we  should  love  all  equally : 
the  Jews  as  well  as  the  Romans  themselves,  the  Romans 
as  the  Egyptians,  the  Egyptians  as  the  Africans,  and  so 
on.  I  confess  that  I  have  had  enough  of  this.  At  the 
moment  when  his  life  is  in  peril,  he  bears  himself  as  if 
the  question  were  of  some  one  else ;  he  teaches  —  and 
prays.  It  is  not  my  duty  to  save  a  man  who  has  no  care 
for  his  own  safety.  Whoso  does  not  know  how  to  pre- 
serve measure  in  anything  is  not  a  man  of  judgment. 
Moreover,  he  calls  himself  the  Son  of  God,  and  disturbs 
the  foundations  on  which  society  rests,  and  therefore 
harms  people.  Let  him  think  what  he  likes  in  his  soul, 
if  he  will  not  raise  disturbance.  As  a  man,  I  protest 
against  his  teaching.  If  I  do  not  believe  in  the  gods,  let 
us  concede  that  it  is  my  affair.  Still  I  recognize  the 
use  of  religion,  and  I  declare  su  publicly,  for  I  judge 


LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM.  239 

that  religion  is  a  curb  on  people.  Horses  must  be  har- 
iiessed,  and  harnessed  securely.  Finally,  death  should 
not  be  terrible  to  that  Nazarene,  for  he  declares  that  he 
will  rise  from  the  dead." 

Cinna  and  Antea  looked  at  each  other  with  amazement. 

"  That  he  will  rise  from  the  dead  ? " 

"  Neither  more  nor  less  ;  after  three  days.  So  at  least 
his  disciples  declare.  I  forgot  to  ask  him  myself.  For 
that  matter,  it  is  all  one,  since  death  liberates  a  man  from 
promises.  And  even  should  he  not  rise  from  the  dead,  he 
will  lose  nothing,  since,  according  to  his  teaching,  genuine 
happiness  and  eternal  life  begin  only  after  death.  He 
speaks  of  this,  indeed,  as  a  man  perfectly  certain.  In  his 
Hades  it  is  brighter  than  in  the  world  under  the  sun,  and 
whoso  suffers  more  in  this  world  will  enter  that  with 
greater  certainty  ;  he  must  only  love,  and  love,  and  love." 

"A  wonderful  doctrine,"  said  Antea. 

"And  these  people  here  cry  to  thee,  'Crucify  him  ! '  ?" 
inquired  Cinna. 

"  And  I  do  not  even  wonder  at  this,  for  hatred  is  the 
soul  of  this  people,  for  what,  if  not  hatred,  can  demand 
that  love  be  crucified  ? " 

Antea  rubbed  her  forehead  with  her  emaciated  hand. 

"  And  is  he  certain  that  it  is  possible  to  live  and  be 
happy  after  death  ?  " 

"  That  is  why  neither  the  cross  nor  death  terrify  him." 

"  How  good  that  would  be,  Caius  ! 

"How  does  he  know  this  ?"  inquired  she,  after  a  while. 

The  procurator  waved  his  hand:  "He  says  that  he 
knows  it  from  the  Father  of  all,  who  for  the  Jews  is  the 
same  as  Jove  for  us,  with  this  difference,  that,  according  to 
the  Nazarene,  the  Father  alone  is  one  and  merciful." 

"  How  good  that  would  be,  Caius  ! "  repeated  the  sick 
woman. 


240  LET  US   FOLLOW   HIM. 

China  opened  his  lips  as  if  to  make  some  answer,  but 
remained  silent;  and  the  conversation  stopped.  Evi- 
dently Pontius  was  continuing  to  think  of  the  strange 
doctrine  of  the  Nazarene,  for  he  shook  his  head  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders  repeatedly.  At  last  he  rose  and 
began  to  take  leave. 

All  at  once  Antea  said,  — 

"  Caius,  let  us  go  to  look  at  that  Nazarene." 

"  Hasten,"  said  Pilate,  as  he  was  going  away  ;  "  the  pro- 
cession will  move  soon." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  day,  hot  and  bright  from  early  morning,  was 
obscured  about  midday.  From  the  northeast 
clouds  were  rolling  up,  either  dark  or  copper-colored,  not 
over  large,  but  dense,  as  if  pregnant  with  a  tempest.  Be- 
tween them  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky  was  still  visible,  but 
it  was  easy  to  foresee  that  they  would  soon  pack  together 
and  conceal  the  whole  round  of  the  sky.  Meanwhile  the 
sun  covered  the  edges  of  them  with  fire  and  gold.  Over 
the  city  itself  and  the  adjacent  hills  there  extended  yet  a 
broad  space  of  clear  blue,  and  in  the  valley  there  was  no 
breath  of  wind. 

On  the  lofty  platform  of  ground  called  Golgotha  stood 
here  and  there  small  groups  of  people  who  had  preceded 
the  procession  which  was  to  move  from  the  city.  The 
sun  illuminated  broad,  stony  spaces,  which  were  empty, 
gloomy,  and  barren  ;  their  monotonous  pearl-color  was  in- 
terrupted only  by  the  black  net  of  ravines  and  gullies, 
the  blacker  because  the  platform  itself-  was  covered  with 
light.  In  the  distance  were  visible  more  elevated  emi- 
nences, equally  empty,  veiled  by  the  blue  haze  of  distance. 


LET  US   FOLLOW   HIM.  241 

Lower  down,  between  the  walls  of  the  city  and  the  plat- 
form of  Golgotha,  lay  a  plain  bordered  in  places  with  cliffs 
less  naked.  From  crannies  in  which  had  collected  some 
little  fertile  earth,  fig-trees  peeped  forth  with  few  and 
scant  leaves.  Here  and  there  rose  flat-roofed  buildings 
fixed  to  the  cliff-side,  like  swallows'  nests  to  stone  walls, 
or  shining  from  afar  in  the  sun-rays  were  sepulchres, 
painted  white.  At  present,  because  of  the  approaching 
holidays  and  the  concourse  of  provincials  in  the  capital, 
multitudes  of  huts  and  tents  had  been  raised  near  the  city 
walls ;  these  formed  whole  encampments  filled  with  men 
and  camels. 

The  sun  rose  ever  higher  on  that  expanse  of  heaven 
which  was  still  free  from  clouds.  The  hours  were  ap- 
proaching in  which  usually  deep  silence  reigned  on  those 
heights,  for  every  living  creature  sought  refuge  inside  the 
walls  or  within  the  ravines.  And  even  at  this  time,  in 
spite  of  uncommon  animation,  there  was  a  certain  sadness 
in  that  neighborhood  in  which  the  dazzling  light  fell  not 
on  green,  but  on  gray  stone  expanses.  The  noise  of  dis- 
tant voices,  coming  from  the  direction  of  the  walls,  was 
changed  into  the  sound  of  waves,  as  it  were,  and  seemed 
to  be  swallowed  by  the  silence. 

The  single  groups  of  people  waiting  on  Golgotha  since 
morning  turned  their  faces  toward  the  city,  whence  the 
procession  might  move  at  any  moment.  Antea's  litter 
arrived ;  a  few  soldiers,  sent  by  the  procurator,  preceded  it. 
These  were  to  open  a  way  through  the  multitude,  and  in 
case  of  need  restrain  from  deeds  of  disrespect  the  fanatical 
throng,  and  those  who  hated  foreigners.  At  the  side  of 
the  litter  walked  Cinna,  in  company  with  the  centurion 
Eufilus. 

Antea  was  calmer,  less  frightened  than  usual  at  the 
approach  of  midday,  and  with  it  the  terror  of  dreadful 

16 


242  LET   US   FOLLOW   HIM. 

visions,  which  had  drawn  the  life  out  of  her.  What  the 
procurator  had  said  touching  the  young  Nazarene,  had 
attracted  her  mind  and  turned  attention  from  her  own 
misery.  For  her  there  was  in  this  something  wonderful 
which  she  could  hardly  understand.  The  world  of  that 
time  had  seen  many  persons  die  as  calmly  as  a  funeral 
pile  quenches  when  the  fuel  in  it  is  consumed.  But  that 
was  a  calmness  coming  from  bravery,  or  from  a  philosophic 
agreement  with  the  implacable  necessity  of  exchanging 
light  for  darkness,  real  life  for  an  existence  misty,  vanish- 
ing, and  indefinite.  No  one  up  to  that  time  had  blessed 
death ;  no  one  had  died  with  unshaken  certainty  that 
only  after  the  funeral  pyre  or  the  grave  would  real  life 
begin,  —  life  as  mighty  and  endless  as  only  a  being  all- 
powerful  and  eternal  can  give. 

And  he  whom  they  had  appointed  for  crucifixion 
declared  this  as  an  undoubted  truth.  This  teaching  not 
only  struck  Antea,  but  seemed  to  her  the  only  source  of 
consolation.  She  knew  that  she  must  die,  and  immense 
regret  seized  her.  For  what  did  death  mean  for  her  ?  It 
meant  to  lose  China,  to  lose  her  father,  to  lose  the  world, 
to  lose  love,  for  a  cold,  empty  gloom,  which  was  half 
nothing.  Hence  the  more  desirable  it  was  for  her  in  life, 
the  greater  must  be  her  sorrow.  If  death  could  be  good 
for  anything,  or  if  it  were  possible  to  take  with  her  even 
the  remembrance  of  love,  or  the  memory  of  happiness, 
she  would  be  able  to  gain  resignation  the  more  quickly. 

Then,  while  she  expected  nothing  from  death,  she  heard 
all  at  once  that  it  could  give  everything.  And  who  had 
made  that  announcement  ?  A  certain  wonderful  man,  a 
teacher,  a  prophet,  a  philosopher,  who  enjoined  love  as  the 
highest  virtue,  who  blessed  people  when  they  were  lash- 
ing him ;  and  this  man  they  had  condemned  to  the  cross. 
Hence  Antea  thought :  "  Why  did  he  teach  thus  if  the 


LET  US  FOLLOW  HIM.  243 

cross  was  his  only  reward?  Others  desired  power;  he 
did  not  desire  it.  Others  desired  wealth ;  he  remained 
poor.  Others  desired  palaces,  feasts,  excesses,  purple 
robes,  and  chariots  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl  and  ivory  ; 
he  lived  like  a  shepherd.  Meanwhile  he  enjoined  love, 
compassion,  poverty;  therefore  he  could  not  be  malicious 
and  deceive  people  purposely.  If  he  spoke  the  truth, 
let  death  be  blessed  as  the  end  of  earthly  misery,  as  the 
change  from  a  lower  to  a  loftier  happiness,  as  light  for 
eyes  that  are  quenching,  as  wings  with  which  one  flies 
away  into  endless  bliss  ! " 

Antea  understood  then  what  the  promise  of  resurrec- 
tion signified.  The  mind  and  heart  of  the  poor  sick 
woman  cleaved  with  all  their  strength  to  that  teaching. 
She  recalled  also  the  words  of  her  father,  who  had  repeated 
more  than  once  that  some  new  truth  might  bring  the 
tortured  soul  of  man  out  of  darkness  and  imprisonment. 
And  here  was  the  new  truth  !  It  had  conquered  death  ; 
hence  it  had  brought  salvation.  Antea  sank  with  her 
whole  being  in  those  thoughts ;  so  that  for  many  and 
many  a  day  Cinna  for  the  first  time  failed  to  find  terror 
in  her  face  at  the  approach  of  midday. 

The  procession  moved  at  last  from  the  city  toward 
Golgotha.  From  the  height  where  Antea  was  sitting,  it 
could  be  seen  perfectly.  The  crowd,  though  considerable, 
seemed  lost  on  those  stony  expanses.  Through  the  open 
gate  of  Jerusalem  flowed  more  and  more  people,  and  on 
the  way  they  were  joined  by  those  who  had  been  waiting 
outside  the  walls.  They  went  at  first  in  a  long  line, 
which,  as  it  moved  forward,  spread  like  a  swollen  river. 
At  both  sides  were  running  swarms  of  children. 

The  procession  was  made  varied  and  many-colored  by 
the  white  tunics  and  the  scarlet  and  blue  kerchiefs  of 
women.  In  the  centre  were  glittering  the  arms  and  spears 


244  LET   US  FOLLOW  HIM. 

of  Roman  soldiers,  on  which  the  sun  cast  fleeting  rays,  as 
it  were.  The  uproar  of  mingled  voices  came  from  afar 
and  rose  with  increasing  distinctness. 

At  last  the  multitude  came  quite  near ;  the  first  ranks 
began  to  ascend  the  height.  The  throng  of  people  hurried 
on  so  as  to  occupy  the  nearest  places  and  see  the  torment 
more  clearly ;  because  of  this  the  division  of  soldiers,  con- 
ducting the  condemned,  fell  more  and  more  toward  the 
rear.  Children  arrived  first,  mainly  boys,  half  naked, 
with  cloths  fastened  around  their  hips,  with  shaven  heads, 
except  two  tufts  of  hair  near  the  temple,  embrowned,  with 
eyes  almost  blue,  and  harsh  voices.  In  the  wild  uproar 
they  fell  to  pulling  out  of  the  crannies  bits  of  stone  broken 
from  the  cliffs ;  these  they  wished  to  throw  at  those  who 
were  to  be  crucified.  Right  after  them  the  height  swarmed 
with  a  nondescript  rabble.  Their  faces  were  for  the 
greater  part  excited  by  the  movement  and  by  the  hope 
of  a  spectacle.  On  no  face  was  there  a  sign  of  compas- 
sion. The  noise  of  rasping  voices,  the  endless  number  of 
words  thrown  out  by  each  mouth,  the  suddenness  of  their 
movements,  astonished  Antea,  though  accustomed  in 
Alexandria  to  the  word-loving  liveliness  of  Greeks.  Be- 
fore her,  people  spoke  as  if  they  wished  to  hurl  them- 
selves at  one  another.  They  screamed  as  if  escaping 
death ;  they  resisted  as  if  some  one  were  flaying  them. 

The  centurion  Rufilus,  approaching  the  litter,  gave 
explanations  in  a  calm,  official  voice.  Meanwhile  new 
waves  flowed  up  from  the  city.  The  throng  increased 
every  moment.  In  the  crowd  were  seen  wealthy  men  of 
Jerusalem,  dressed  in  girded  tunics,  holding  themselves 
aloof  from  the  wretched  rabble  of  the  suburbs.  In 
numbers  also  came  villagers  which  the  festival  had 
brought  to  the  city,  with  their  families ;  field-workers, 
with  kindly  and  astonished  faces,  came,  bearing  bags  at 


LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM.  245 

their  girdles;  shepherds  came,  dressed  in  goat-skins. 
Crowds  of  women  came  with  the  men  ;  but  as  wives  of 
the  more  wealthy  citizens  did  not  leave  their  homes 
willingly,  these  women  were  chiefly  of  the  people.  They 
were  villagers,  or  women  of  the  street ;  these  last  dressed 
gaudily,  had  dyed  hair,  brows,  and  nails ;  they  wore  im- 
mense ear-rings  and  coin  necklaces,  and  gave  out  from  a 
distance  the  odor  of  nard. 

The  Sanhedrim  arrived  at  last;  and  in  the  midst  of 
it,  Annas,  an  aged  man  with  the  face  of  a  vulture  and 
eyes  with  red  lids ;  then  appeared  the  unwieldy  Caiaphas, 
wearing  a  two-horned  hat,  with  a  gilded  tablet  on  his 
breast.  With  these  walked  various  Pharisees ;  as,  for 
instance,  those  who  "  drag  their  legs "  and  strike  every 
obstacle  purposely  with  their  feet ;  Pharisees  with 
"  bloody  foreheads,"  who  beat  those  foreheads  against  the 
wall,  also  by  design ;  and  Pharisees  "  bent  over,"  as  if  to 
receive  the  burden  of  the  sins  of  the  whole  city  on  their 
shoulders.  Gloomy  importance  and  cold  vindictiveness 
distinguished  them  from  the  noisy  rabble. 

Cinna  looked  at  this  throng  of  people  with  the  cool, 
contemptuous  visage  of  a  man  of  the  ruling  race,  An  tea 
with  astonishment  and  fear.  Many  Jews  inhabited  Alex- 
andria, but  there  they  were  half  Hellenized  ;  here  for  the 
first  time  she  saw  Jews  as  the  procurator  had  described 
them,  and  as  they  were  in  their  own  native  nest.  Her 
youthful  face,  on  which  death  had  imprinted  its  stamp, 
her  form,  resembling  a  shadow,  attracted  general  atten- 
tion. They  stared  at  her  with  insolence  in  so  far  as  the 
soldiers  surrounding  her  litter  permitted  them  ;  and  so 
great  among  them  was  contempt  for  foreigners  that  no 
compassion  was  evident  in  the  eyes  of  any ;  rather  did 
gladness  shine  in  them  because  the  victim  would  not 
escape  death.  Then  the  daughter  of  Timon  understood 


246  LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM. 

for  the  first  time,  and  precisely,  why  those  people  de- 
manded a  cross  for  the  prophet  who  had  proclaimed  love. 

And  all  at  once  that  Nazarene  appeared  to  Antea  as 
some  one  so  near  that  he  was  almost  dear  to  her.  He  had 
to  die,  and  so  had  she.  Nothing  could  save  him  now, 
after  the  issuing  of  the  sentence,  and  sentence  had  fallen 
also  on  her  ;  hence  it  seemed  to  Antea  that  the  brother- 
hood of  misfortune  and  death  had  united  them.  But  he 
approached  the  cross  with  faith  in  a  morrow  after  death. 
She  had  not  that  faith  yet,  and  had  come  to  obtain  it 
from  the  sight  of  him. 

Meanwhile  from  afar  was  heard  an  uproar,  a  whistling, 
a  howling,  then  all  was  silent.  Next  came  clatter  of  wea- 
pons and  the  heavy  tread  of  legionaries.  The  crowds 
swayed,  opened,  and  the  division  conducting  the  con- 
demned began  to  push  past  the  litter.  In  front,  at 
both  sides,  and  behind,  advanced  soldiers  with  slow  and 
measured  tread.  Next  were  three  arms  of  crosses,  which 
seemed  to  move  of  themselves ;  they  were  borne  by  per- 
sons bent  under  the  weight  of  them.  It  was  easy  to 
divine  that  the  Nazarene  was  not  among  those  three,  for 
two  had  the  insolent  faces  of  thieves.  The  third  was  a 
simple  countryman,  no  longer  young ;  clearly  the  soldiers 
had  impressed  him  to  do  work  for  another. 

The  Nazarene  walked  behind  the  crosses ;  two  soldiers 
marched  near  him.  He  wore  a  purple  mantle  thrown 
over  his  garments,  and  a  crown  of  thorns,  from  under  the 
points  of  which  drops  of  blood  issued;  of  these  some 
flowed  slowly  along  his  face,  others  had  grown  stiff  under 
the  crown,  in  the  form  of  berries  of  the  wild  rose,  or 
coral  beads.  He  was  pale,  and  moved  forward  with  slow, 
unsteady,  and  weakened  step.  He  advanced  amid  insults 
from  the  multitude,  sunk,  as  it  were,  in  the  meditation 
of  another  world  ;  he  was  as  if  seized  away  from  the  earth 


LET  US  FOLLOW  HIM.  247 

altogether,  as  if  not  caring  for  the  cries  of  hatred,  or  as 
if  forgiving  beyond  the  measure  of  human  forgiveness 
and  compassionate  beyond  the  measure  of  human  coin- 
passion,  for,  embraced  now  by  infinity,  raised  above  human 
estimate,  he  was  exceedingly  mild,  and  was  sorrowful 
only  through  his  measureless  sorrow  for  all  men. 

"  Thou  art  Truth,"  whispered  Aiitea,  with  trembling  lips. 

The  retinue  was  passing  just  near  the  litter.  It  halted 
for  a  moment  while  soldiers  in  front  were  clearing  the 
road  of  the  throng ;  Antea  saw  then  the  Nazarene  a  few 
steps  away.  She  saw  the  breeze  move  his  hair ;  she  saw 
the  ruddy  reflection  from  his  mantle  on  his  pallid  and 
almost  transparent  face.  The  mob,  rushing  toward  him, 
surrounded  with*  a  dense  half-circle  the  soldiers,  who  had 
to  resist  with  spears,  to  save  him  from  their  rage.  Every- 
where were  visible  outstretched  arms  with  clinched  fists, 
eyes  bursting  through  their  lids,  gleaming  teeth,  beards 
thrown  apart  from  mad  movements,  and  foaming  lips 
through  which  came  hoarse  shouts.  But  he  looked  around, 
as  if  wishing  to  ask, "  What  have  I  done  to  you  ? "  then  he 
raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  and  prayed  —  and  forgave. 

"  Antea  !     Antea  !  "  cried  Cinna  at  that  moment. 

But  Antea  seemed  not  to  hear  his  cries.  Great  tears 
were  falling  from  her  eyes ;  she  forgot  her  sickness, 
forgot  that  for  many  days  she  had  not  risen  from  the 
litter;  and  sitting  up  on  a  sudden,  trembling,  half 
conscious,  from  pity,  compassion,  and  indignation  at 
the  mad  shrieks  of  the  multitude,  she  took  hyacinths 
with  apple  blossoms  and  cast  them  before  the  feet  of 
the  Nazarene. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Amazement  seized 
the  crowd  at  sight  of  this  noble  Roman  lady  giving  honor 
to  the  condemned.  He  turned  his  eyes  to  her  poor  sick 
face,  and  his  lips  began  to  move,  as  if  blessing  her. 


248  LET   US   FOLLOW   HIM. 

Antea  fell  again  on  the  pillow  of  the  litter ;  she  felt  that 
a  sea  of  light,  of  goodness,  of  grace,  of  consolation,  of 
hope,  of  happiness,  was  falling  on  her. 

"  Thou  art  Truth,"  whispered  she,  a  second  time. 

Then  a  new  wave  of  tears  came  to  her  eyes. 

But  they  pushed  him  forward  to  a  place  a  few  tens  of 
steps  distant  from  the  litter ;  on  that  place  stood  already 
the  uprights  of  crosses,  fixed  in  a  cleft  of  the  rocky  plat- 
form. The  crowd  concealed  him  again ;  but,  since  that 
place  was  elevated  considerably,  Antea  soon  saw  his 
pale  face  and  the  crown  of  thorns.  The  legionaries  turned 
once  more  toward  the  rabble,  which  they  clubbed  away, 
lest  it  might  interrupt  the  execution.  They  began  then 
to  fasten  the  two  thieves  to  the  side  crosses.  The  third 
cross  stood  in  the  middle  ;  to  the  top  of  it  was  fastened, 
with  a  nail,  a  white  card  which  the  growing  wind 
pulled  and  raised.  When  soldiers,  approaching  the 
Nazarene  at  last,  began  to  undress  him,  shouts  rose  in 
the  crowds  :  "  King  !  king  !  do  not  yield  !  King,  where  are 
thy  legions  ?  Defend  thyself !  "  At  moments  laughter 
burst  forth,  —  laughter  that  bore  away  the  multitude  till 
on  a  sudden  the  whole  stony  height  resounded  with  one 
roar.  Then  they  stretched  him  face  upward  on  the 
ground,  to  nail  his  hands  to  the  arms  of  the  cross,  and 
raise  him  afterward  with  it  to  the  main  pillar. 

Thereupon  some  man,  in  a  white  tunic,  standing  not 
far  from  the  litter,  cast  himself  on  the  earth  suddenly, 
gathered  dust  and  bits  of  stone  on  his  head,  and  cried 
in  a  shrill,  despairing  voice,  "  I  was  a  leper,  and  he 
cured  me;  why  do  ye  crucify  him?" 

Antea's  face  became  white  as  a  kerchief. 

"  He  cured  that  man  ;  dost  hear,  Caius  ? "  said  she. 

"  Dost  wish  to  return  ? "  asked  Cinna. 

"  No !     I  will  remain  here ! " 


LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM.  249 

But  a  wild  and  boundless  despair  seized  Cinna  because 
he  had  not  called  the  Nazarene  to  his  house  to  cure  Antea. 

At  that  moment  the  soldiers,  placing  nails  at  his  hands, 
began  to  strike.  The  dull  clink  of  iron  against  iron  was 
heard;  this  soon  changed  into  a  sound  which  went 
farther,  for  the  points  of  the  nails,  having  passed  through 
flesh,  entered  the  wood.  The  crowds  were  silent  again, 
perhaps  to  enjoy  cries  which  torture  might  bring  from 
the  mouth  of  the  Nazarene.  But  he  remained  silent,  and 
on  the  height  was  heard  only  the  ominous  and  dreadful 
sound  of  the  hammers. 

At  last  they  had  finished  the  work,  and  the  crosspiece 
was  drawn  up,  with  the  body.  The  centurion  in  charge 
pronounced,  or  rather  sang  out  monotonously,  words  of 
command,  in  virtue  of  which  a  soldier  began  to  nail  the 
feet. 

At  this  moment  those  clouds,  which  since  morning  had 
been  extending  on  the  horizon,  hid  the  sun.  The  distant 
hills  and  cliffs,  which  had  been  gleaming  in  brightness, 
gleamed  no  longer.  The  light  turned  to  darkness.  An 
ominous  bronze-colored  gloom  seized  the  region  about, 
and,  as  the  sun  sank  more  deeply  behind  piles  of  clouds, 
the  gloom  became  denser.  Men  might  have  thought 
that  some  being  from  above  was  sifting  down  to  the 
earth  lurid  darkness.  The  air  now  grew  sultry. 

All  at  once  even  those  remnants  of  lurid  gleams  be- 
came black.  Clouds,  dark  as  night,  rolled  and  pushed 
forward,  like  a  gigantic  wave,  toward  the  height  and  the 
city.  A  tempest  was  coming !  The  world  was  filled  with 
fear. 

"  Let  us  return  ! "  said  Cinna  again. 

"  Once  more,  once  more,  I  wish  to  see  him,"  answered 
Antea. 

Darkness  had  concealed  the  hanging   bodies.     Cinna 


250  LET   US   FOLLOW   HIM. 

gave  command  to  carry  the  litter  nearer  the  place  of 
torment.  They  carried  it  so  near  that  barely  a  few  steps 
were  between  them  and  the  cross.  On  the  dark  tree 
they  saw  the  body  of  the  Crucified,  who  in  that  general 
eclipse  seemed  made  of  silver  rays  of  the  moon.  His 
breast  rose  with  quick  breathing.  His  face  and  eyes  were 
turned  upward  yet. 

Then  from  the  rolls  of  clouds  was  heard  a  deep  rum- 
bling. Thunder  was  roused ;  it  rose  and  rolled  with  tre- 
mendous report  from  the  east  to  the  west,  and  then 
falling,  as  if  into  a  bottomless  abyss,  was  heard  farther 
and  farther  down,  now  dying  away,  and  now  increasing ; 
at  last  it  roared  till  the  earth  shook  in  its  foundations. 

A  gigantic  blue  lightning -flash  rent  the  clouds,  lighted 
the  sky,  the  earth,  the  crosses,  the  arms  of  the  soldiers, 
and  the  mob  huddled  together,  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  filled 
with  distress  and  terror. 

After  the  lightning  came  deeper  darkness.  Close  to 
the  litter  was  heard  the  sobbing  of  women,  who  also 
drew  near  the  cross.  There  was  something  ominous  in 
this  sobbing  amid  silence.  Those  who  were  lost  in  the 
multitude  began  now  to  cry  out.  Here  and  there  were 
heard  terrified  voices, — 

"  0  Yah !  oj  lanu !  [woe  to  us] !  0  Yah  !  Have  they 
not  crucified  the  Just  One  ? " 

"  Who  gave  true  testimony  !    0  Yah  ! " 

"  Who  raised  the  dead  ! " 

And  another  voice  called, — 

"  Woe  to  thee,  Jerusalem  !  " 

Still  another,  — 

"The  earth  trembles!" 

A  new  lightning-flash  disclosed  the  depths  of  the  sky 
and  in  them  gigantic  figures  of  fire,  as  it  were.  The 
voices  were  silent,  or  rather  were  lost  in  the  whistling  of 


LET   US    FOLLOW   HIM.  251 

the  whirlwind,  which  sprang  up  all  at  once  with  tre- 
mendous force  ;  it  swept  off  a  multitude  of  mantles  and 
kerchiefs,  and  hurled  them  away  over  the  height. 

Voices  cried  out  anew,  — 

"  The  earth  trembles  !  " 

Some  began  to  flee.  Terror  nailed  others  to  the  spot ; 
and  they  stood  fixed  in  amazement,  without  thought,  with 
this  dull  impression  only,  —  that  something  awful  was 
happening. 

But,  on  a  sudden,  the  gloom  began  to  be  less  dense. 
Wind  rolled  the  clouds  over,  twisted  and  tore  them  like 
rotten  rags  ;  brightness  increased  gradually.  At  last  the 
dark  ceiling  was  rent,  and  through  the  opening  rushed  in 
all  at  once  a  torrent  of  sunlight ;  presently  the  heights 
became  visible  and  with  them  the  crosses  and  the  terri- 
fied faces  of  the  people. 

The  head  of  the  Nazarene  had  fallen  low  on  his  breast ; 
it  was  as  pale  as  wax  ;  his  eyes  were  closed,  his  lips  blue. 

"  He  is  dead,"  whispered  Antea. 

"He  is  dead,"  repeated  Cinna. 

At  this  moment  a  centurion  thrust  his  spear  into  the 
side  of  the  dead.  A  wonderful  thing  :  the  return  of  light 
and  the  sight  of  that  death  seemed  to  appease  that  crowd. 
They  pushed  nearer  and  nearer,  especially  since  the  sol- 
diers did  not  bar  approach.  Among  the  throng  were 
heard  voices,  — 

"  Come  down  from  the  cross  !  Come  down  from  the 
cross  ! " 

Antea  cast  her  eyes  once  more  on  that  low-hanging 
head,  then  she  said,  as  if  to  herself,  — 

"  Will  he  rise  from  the  dead  ? " 

In  view  of  death,  which  had  put  blue  spots  on  his  eyes 
and  mouth,  in  view  of  those  arms  stretched  beyond 
measure,  and  in  view  of  that  motionless  body  which  had 


252  LET  US   FOLLOW  HIM. 

settled  down  with  the  weight  of  dead  things,  her  voice 
trembled  with  despairing  doubt. 

Not  less  was  the  disappointment  rending  Cinna's  soul. 
He  also  believed  not  that  the  Nazarene  would  rise  from 
the  dead ;  but  he  believed  that  had  he  lived,  he  alone, 
with  his  power,  good  or  evil,  might  have  given  health  to 
Antea.  Meanwhile  more  numerous  voices  were  calling  : 

"  Come  down  from  the  cross !  Come  down  from  the 
cross ! " 

"  Come  down  !  "  repeated  Cinna,  with  despair.  "  Cure 
her  for  me  ;  take  my  life  ! " 

The  air  became  purer  and  purer.  The  mountains  were 
still  in  mist,  but  above  the  height  and  the  city  the  sky 
had  cleared  perfectly.  "  Turris  Antonia  "  glittered  in  sun- 
light as  bright  itself  as  the  sun.  The  air  had  become 
fresh,  and  was  full  of  swallows.  Cinna  gave  command 
to  return. 

It  was  an  afternoon  hour.  Near  the  house  Antea  said,  — 

"  Hecate  has  not  come  to-day." 

Cinna  also  was  thinking  of  that. 


CHAPTEK  VIII. 

vision  did  not  appear  the  next  day.     The  sick 
J-       woman  was  unusually  animated,   for  Timon  had 
come  from  Csesarea.     Alarmed  for  the  life  of  his  daughter 

O 

and  frightened  by  Cinna's  letters,  he  had  left  Alexandria 
a  few  clays  earlier  to  look  once  again  on  his  only  child  be- 
fore her  parting.  At  Cinna's  heart  hope  began  to  knock 
again,  as  if  to  give  notice  to  receive  it.  But  he  had  not 
courage  to  open  the  door  to  that  guest ;  he  did  not  dare  to 
harbor  hope. 


LET  US  FOLLOW  HIM.  253 

In  the  visions  which  had  been  killing  Antea,  there  had 
been  intervals,  it  is  true,  not  of  two  days,  but  of  one 
in  Alexandria,  and  in  the  desert.  The  present  relief 
Cinna  attributed  to  Timon's  arrival,  and  her  impressions 
at  the  cross,  which  so  filled  the  sick  woman's  soul  that 
she  could  talk  of  nothing  else,  even  with  her  father. 

Timon  listened  with  attention  ;  he  did  not  contradict ; 
he  meditated  and  merely  inquired  carefully  about  the 
doctrine  of  the  Nazarene,  of  which  Antea  knew,  for  that 
matter,  only  what  the  procurator  had  told  her. 

In  general  she  felt  healthier  and  somewhat  stronger; 
and  when  midday  had  passed  and  gone,  real  solace  shone 
in  her  eyes.  She  repeated  that  that  was  a  favorable  day, 
and  begged  her  husband  to  make  note  of  it. 

The  day  was  really  sad  and  gloomy.  Kain  had  begun 
in  the  early  morning,  at  first  very  heavy,  then  fine  and 
cutting,  from  low  clouds  which  extended  monotonously. 
Only  in  the  evening  did  the  sky  break  through,  and  the 
great  fiery  globe  of  the  sun  look  out  of  the  mists,  paint  in 
purple  and  gold  the  gray  rocks,  the  white  marble  porti- 
coes of  the  villas,  and  descend  with  endless  gleams  toward 
the  Mediterranean. 

The  next  morning  was  wonderfully  beautiful.  The 
weather  promised  to  be  warm,  but  the  morning  was  fresh, 
the  sky  without  a  spot,  and  the  earth  so  sunk  in  a  blue 
bath  that  all  objects  seemed  blue.  Antea  had  given  direc- 
tions to  bear  her  out  and  place  her  under  the  favorite 
pistachio-tree,  so  that  from  the  elevation  on  which  the 
tree  stood  she  might  delight  herself  with  the  view  of  the 
blue  and  gladsome  distance. 

Cinna  and  Timon  did  not  move  a  step  from  the  litter, 
and  watched  the  face  of  the  sick  woman  carefully.  There 
was  in  it  a  certain  alarm  of  expectation,  but  it  was  not 
that  mortal  fear  which  used  to  seize  her  at  the  approach 


254  LET   US   FOLLOW   HIM. 

of  midday.  Her  eyes  cast  a  more  lively  light,  and  her 
cheeks  bloomed  with  a  slight  flush.  Cinna  thought 
indeed  at  moments  that  Antea  might  recover ;  and  at  this 
thought  he  wanted  to  throw  himself  on  the  ground,  to 
sob  from  delight,  and  bless  the  gods.  Then  again  he 
feared  that  that  was  perhaps  the  last  gleam  of  the  dying 
lamp.  Wishing  to  gain  hope  from  some  source,  he 
glanced  every  little  while  at  Timon ;  but  similar  thoughts 
must  have  been  passing  through  his  head,  for  he  avoided 
Cinna's  glances.  None  of  the  three  mentioned  by 
a  word  that  midday  was  near.  But  Cinna,  casting  his 
eyes  every  moment  at  the  shadows,  saw  with  beating 
heart  that  they  were  growing  shorter  and  shorter. 

And  he  sat  as  if  sunk  in  thought.  Perhaps  the  least 
alarmed  was  Antea  herself.  Lying  in  the  open  litter,  her 
head  rested  on  a  purple  pillow ;  she  breathed  with  delight 
that  pure  air  which  the  breeze  brought  from  the  west,  from 
the  distant  sea.  But  before  midday  the  breeze  had  ceased 
to  blow.  The  heat  increased;  warmed  by  the  sun,  the 
pepperwort  of  the  cliffs  and  the  thickets  of  nard  began 
to  give  out  a  strong  and  intoxicating  odor.  Bright  but- 
terflies balanced  themselves  over  bunches  of  anemones. 
From  the  crevices  of  the  rocks  little  lizards,  already  accus- 
tomed to  that  litter  and  those  people,  sprang  out,  one  after 
the  other,  confident  as  usual,  and  also  cautious  in  every 
movement.  The  whole  world  was  enjoying  that  serene 
peace,  that  warmth,  that  calm  sweetness  and  azure  drow- 
siness. 

Timon  and  Cinna  seemed  also  to  dissolve  in  that  sunny 
rest.  The  sick  woman  closed  her  eyes  as  if  a  light  sleep 
had  seized  her ;  and  nothing  interrupted  that  silence 
except  sighs,  which  from  time  to  time  raised  her  breast. 

Meanwhile  Cinna  noticed  that  his  shadow  had  lost  its 
lengthened  form  and  was  lying  there  under  his  feet. 


LET   US   FOLLOW  HIM.  255 

It  was  midday. 

All  at  once  Antea  opened  her  eyes  and  called  out  in  a 
kind  of  strange  voice, — 

"  Caius,  give  me  thy  hand." 

He  sprang  up,  and  all  the  blood  was  stiffened  to  ice  in 
his  heart.  The  hour  of  terrible  visions  had  come. 

Her  eyes  opened  wider  and  wider. 

"Dost  thou  see,"  said  she,  "  how  light  collects  there  and 
binds  the  air ;  how  it  trembles,  glitters,  and  approaches 
me  ? " 

"  Antea,  look  not  in  that  direction  !  "  cried  Cinna. 

But,  oh,  wonder !  there  was  no  fear  on  her  face.  Her 
lips  were  parted ;  her  eyes  were  gazing,  and  opening  wider 
and  wider ;  a  certain  immeasurable  delight  began  to 
brighten  her  face. 

"  Th.e  pillar  of  light  approaches  me,"  said  she.  "See! 
that  is  he  ;  that  is  the  Nazarene  !  —  he  is  smiling.  O 
Mild  !  0  Merciful !  The  transfixed  hands  he  stretches 
out  like  a  mother  to  me.  Caius,  he  brings  me  health,  sal- 
vation, and  calls  me  to  himself." 

Cinna  grew  very  pale,  and  said,  — 

"  Whithersoever  he  calls  us,  let  us  follow  him." 

A  moment  later,  on  the  other  side,  on  the  stony  path 
leading  to  the  city,  appeared  Pontius  Pilate.  Before  he 
had  come  near,  it  was  evident  from  his  face  that  he  was 
bringing  news,  which,  as  a  man  of  judgment,  he  consid- 
ered a  fresh,  absurd  invention  of  the  ignorant  and  credu- 
lous rabble.  In  fact,  while  still  at  some  distance,  he 
began  to  call,  wiping  perspiration  from  his  brow,  — 

"Imagine  to  thyself,  they  declare  that  he  has  risen  from 
the  dead !•" 


BE   THOU   BLESSED. 


17 


BE  THOU  BLESSED. 

ONCE  on  a  bright  moonlight  night  the  wise  and 
mighty  Krishna  fell  into  deep  meditation,  and 
said,  — 

"  I  thought  man  the  most  beautiful  creation  on  earth ; 
but  I  was  mistaken.  Here  I  see  the  lotus,  rocked  by  the 
night  breeze.  Oh,  how  much  more  beautiful  it  is  than 
any  living  being;  its  leaves  have  just  opened  to  the 
silver  light  of  the  moon,  and  I  cannot  wrest  my  eyes 
from  it! 

"  Among  men  there  is  nothing  to  compare  with  it,"  re- 
peated he,  sighing. 

But  after  a  while  he  thought, — 

"  Why  should  I,  a  god,  not  create,  by  the  power  of  my 
word,  a  being  who  would  be  among  men  what  the  lotus 
is  among  flowers  ?  Let  it  be  then  to  the  delight  of  man 
and  the  earth.  Lotus,  change  thou  into  a  living  maiden 
and  stand  before  me." 

The  water  trembled  slightly,  as  if  touched  by  the  wings 
of  a  swallow ;  the  night  grew  bright ;  the  moon  shone  with 
more  power  in  the  sky;  the  night  thrushes  sang  more 
distinctly,  then  stopped  on  a  sudden,  and  the  charm  was 
accomplished :  before  Krishna  stood  the  lotus  in  human 
shape. 

The  god  himself  was  astonished. 

"  Thou  wert  a  flower  of  the  lake,"  said  he ;  "  henceforth 
be  the  flower  of  my  thought,  and  speak." 


260  BE   THOU  BLESSED. 

The  maiden  began  to  whisper  in  a  voice  as  low  as  the 
sound  made  by  the  white  leaves  of  the  lotus  when  kissed 
by  a  summer  breeze,  — 

"  Lord,  thou  hast  changed  me  into  a  living  being ;  where 
now  dost  thou  command  me  to  dwell  ?  Remember,  lord, 
that  when  I  was  a  flower  I  trembled  and  drew  in  my 
leaves  at  every  breath  of  the  wind.  I  feared  heavy  rain  ; 
I  feared  storms  ;  I  feared  thunder  and  lightning  ;  I  feared 
even  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun.  Thou  hast  commanded 
me  to  be  the  incarnation  of  the  lotus ;  hence  I  have  kept 
my  former  nature,  and  now  I  fear  the  earth  and  all  that 
is  on  it.  Where  dost  thou  command  me  to  dwell  ? " 

Krishna  raised  his  wise  eyes  to  the  stars,  meditated  a 
while,  and  then  asked,  — 

"  Dost  thou  wish  to  live  on  the  summits  of  mountains  ? " 

"  Snow  and  cold  are  there,  lord,  I  am  afraid." 

"Well,  I  will  build  thee  a  palace  of  crystal  at  the 
bottom  of  the  lake." 

"  In  the  depths  of  the  waters  move  serpents  and  other 
monsters ;  I  am  afraid,  lord." 

"  Dost  thou  prefer  the  boundless  steppes  ? " 

"  Whirlwinds  and  tempests  rush  over  the  steppes  like 
wild  herds." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  with  thee,  incarnate  flower  ?  Ha! 
In  the  caves  of  Ellora  live  holy  hermits.  Wilt  thou 
dwell  far  away  from  the  world,  in  those  caves  ? " 

"  It  is  dark  there,  lord ;  I  am  afraid." 

Krishna  sat  on  a  stone,  and  rested  his  head  on  his 
hand.  The  maiden  stood  before  him,  trembling  and 
timid. 

Meanwhile  the  dawn  began  to  brighten  the  sky  on  the 
east.  The  surface  of  the  lake,  the  palms,  and  the  bam- 
boos were  gilded.  At  the  water,  rosy  herons,  blue  storks, 
in  the  forest,  peacocks  and  bengalee  were  heard,  and 


BE  THOU  BLESSED.  261 

these  were  accompanied  by  distant  sounds  of  strings 
stretched  over  pearl  shells,  and  by  words  of  human  song. 
Krishna  awoke  from  meditation  and  said, — 

"  That  is  Valmiki,  the  poet,  saluting  the  rising  sun." 

After  a  while  the  curtain  of  purple  flowers  covering 
the  climbing  plants  was  pushed  aside,  and  Valmiki  ap- 
peared at  the  lake. 

When  he  saw  the  incarnate  lotus  the  poet  ceased  to 
play,  the  pearl  shell  fell  from  his  grasp  to  the  earth,  his 
arms  dropped  at  his  sides,  and  he  stood  dumb,  as  if  the 
mighty  Krishna  had  made  him  a  tree  at  the  edge  of  the 
water. 

The  god  was  delighted  with  this  wonder  at  his  work,  and 
said,  — 

"  Awake,  Valmiki,  and  speak." 

And  Valmiki  said,  — 

"  I  love ! " 

This  was  the  only  word  that  he  remembered,  and  the 
only  word  that  he  could  utter. 

Krishna's  face  was  radiant  at  once. 

"  Wonderful  maiden,  I  have  found  for  thee  a  worthy 
dwelling-place  in  the  world:  thou  wilt  dwell  in  the 
heart  of  the  poet." 

Valmiki  repeated  a  second  time,  — 

"  I  love  ! " 

The  will  of  the  mighty  Krishna,  the  will  of  the  deity, 
began  to  urge  the  maiden  toward  the  heart  of  the  poet. 
The  god  also  made  the  heart  of  Valmiki  as  transparent 
as  crystal. 

Calm  as  a  summer  day,  quiet  as  the  surface  of  the 
Ganges,  the  maiden  advanced  toward  the  dwelling  pre- 
pared for  her.  But  suddenly,  when  she  looked  into  the 
heart  of  Valmiki,  her  face  grew  pale,  and  terror  sur- 
rounded her,  as  a  winter  wind.  Krishna  was  astonished. 


262  BE   THOU   BLESSED. 

"  Incarnate  flower,"  inquired  he,  "  dost  thou  fear  even 
the  heart  of  a  poet  ?  " 

"  0  lord,"  answered  the  maiden,  "  where  hast  thou 
commanded  me  to  dwell  ?  There  in  that  one  heart  I  see 
the  snowy  summits  of  mountains,  the  abysses  of  waters, 
full  of  marvellous  creatures,  the  steppe  with  its  whirl- 
winds and  tempests,  and  the  caves  of  Ellora  with  their 
darkness  ;  therefore  I  am  afraid,  O  lord ! " 

But  the  good  and  wise  Krishna  replied,  — 

"  Calm  thyself,  incarnate  flower.  If  in  the  heart  of 
Valmiki  there  lie  lonely  snows,  be  thou  the  warm  breath 
of  spring,  which  will  melt  them ;  if  in  it  there  be  the 
abyss  of  wraters,  be  thou  the  pearl  in  that  abyss ;  if  in  it 
there  be  the  desert  of  the  steppe,  sow  flowers  of  happi- 
ness there  ;  if  in  it  there  be  the  dark  caves  of  Ellora,  be 
thou  in  that  darkness  the  sun-ray  —  " 

And  Valmiki,  who  during  that  time  had  recovered  his 
speech,  added,— 

"  And  be  thou  blessed ! " 


AT   THE   SOURCE. 


AT   THE  SOURCE. 

I  AM  a  student  of  yesterday ;  my  diploma  of  doctor  of 
philosophy  is  not  dry  yet,  —  that  is  true.  I  have 
neither  wealth  nor  position.  My  whole  fortune  consists 
of  a  rather  poor  little  house  and  a  few  hundred  rubles' 
income.  I  can  understand,  therefore,  why  Tola's  parents 
refused  me  her  hand  ;  but  they  did  more,  —  they  insulted 
me. 

But  why  ?  What  have  I  done  ?  I  brought  them,  as  if 
on  the  palm  of  my  hand,  a  very  honest  heart,  and  I  said : 
"  Give  her  to  me.  I  will  be  the  best  of  sons,  and  till 
death  I  shall  not  cease  to  repay  you ;  her  I  will  worship  ; 
her  I  will  love  and  protect." 

It  is  true  that  I  said  this  stupidly,  in  a  strange  voice, 
while  stammering  and  panting.  You  knew,  however, 
that  I  was  dragging  my  soul  out,  that  through  me  was 
expressed  a  feeling  the  equal  of  which  you  could  not 
meet  in  this  world  every  day  ;  and  if  you  had  chosen  to 
refuse  me,  why  not  refuse  like  kind  people,  with  some 
slight  compassion  in  your  hearts,  but  you  insulted  me. 

You  who  claim  to  be  Christians,  and  claim  to  be  ideal- 
ists, how  were  you  to  know  what  I  might  do  on  leaving 
your  house  after  such  a  refusal  ?  Who  told  you  that  I 
would  not  put  a  bullet  into  my  head, — first,  because  I 
could  not  live  without  her,  and  second,  because  I  could 
not  understand  the  contradiction  between  your  pretended 
principles  and  the  real  practice  of  your  life,  that  phari- 


266  AT  THE   SOURCE. 

seeism,  that  falsehood  ?  Why  had  you  no  mercy  on  me 
even  for  a  moment  ?  It  was  not  right  to  trample  even  me 
without  cause  ;  trampling  inflicts  pain.  Were  it  not  for 
you,  I  might  achieve  something  in  this  world.  I  am 
young,  little  more  than  a  student,  without  wealth,  with- 
out position,  —  that  may  be  !  But  I  have  my  future ;  you 
spat  on  it,  but,  as  God  lives,  I  know  not  why  you  did  so. 

Those  icy  faces  !  that  contemptuous  indignation  !  Two 
days  ago  I  could  not  imagine  that  those  people  could  be 
such.  "  We  thought  you  a  man  of  honor ;  but  you  have 
deceived  us,  you  have  abused  our  confidence  —  "  These 
are  the  words  with  which  they  slashed  me  across  the 
face,  as  with  a  whip.  A  moment  before  they  had  con- 
gratulated me  on  my  diploma  as  heartily  as  if  I  had  been 
their  son ;  and  only  when,  pale  from  emotion,  I  told 
them  what  had  been  the  greatest  spur  in  my  efforts,  their 
cordiality  and  smiles  were  extinguished,  their  faces  grew 
rigid,  frost  breathed  from  them  —  and  it  turned  out  that 
I  had  "  abused  their  confidence." 

They  so  crushed,  dazed,  trampled  me  that  after  a  while 
I  thought  myself  that  I  had  done  something  disgraceful, 
that  I  had  really  deceived  them. 

But  how?  What  is  the  position?  Who  is  the  de- 
ceiver, who  the  deceived,  who  plays  the  contemptible 
r61e  ?  Either  I  have  gone  mad  altogether,  or  there  is 
nothing  mean  in  this,  that  a  man  loves  honestly  and 
desires  to  give  his  soul,  blood,  and  toil  to  another.  If 
your  indignation  was  genuine,  who  is  the  fool  in  this 
case  ? 

Ah,  Panna  Tola !  and  I  was  deceived  in  thee  also,  —  I 
who  counted  on  thee  with  such  confidence.  "  We  are  sure," 
said  they, "  that  our  daughter  has  never  authorized  you  in 
any  way  to  take  this  step."  Of  course  I  did  not  contradict. 
And  then  that  "  daughter "  appeared  with  all  the  un- 


AT   THE   SOURCE.  267 

speakable  coolness  of  a  well-bred  young  lady,  and  stam- 
mered, with  drooping  eyes,  that  she  could  not  understand 
even  how  such  a  thought  could  occur  to  me. 

Dost  thou  not  understand  ?  Listen,  Panna  Tola  :  thou 
didst  not  say,  "I  love;"  I  admit  that.  I  have  not  thy 
bond  and  signature,  but  even  if  I  had  I  would  not  present 
them.  I  will  say  this  much,  however :  there  is  justice  and 
there  is  a  tribunal,  —  all  one  where  they  are,  whether 
somewhere  beyond  the  clouds,  or  in  the  human  conscience  ; 
before  this  tribunal  thou  must  say :  I  have  deceived  this 
man  ;  I  have  denied  him ;  I  have  brought  him  humiliation 
and  misfortune. 

I  know  not  which  failed  thee,  heart  or  courage ;  but  I 
know  that  thou  hast  deceived  me  horribly.  I  love  thee 
still.  I  do  not  wish  to  malign  thee ;  but  when  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  ruining  or  saving,  there  is  need  of  courage.  Love 
and  honesty  must  be  greater  than  fear,  or  the  timbers  of 
an  edifice  raised  with  great  toil  will  fall  on  some  one's 
head.  They  have  fallen  on  mine.  I  built  my  whole 
future  on  blind  faith  in  thy  love ;  and  the  result  proved 
that  I  built  on  sand,  for  courage  failed  thee  at  the 
critical  moment,  since  having  to  choose  between  the  evil 
humor  of  thy  parents  and  my  misfortune,  thou  didst 
choose  my  misfortune. 

If  in  this  wreck  thou  hadst  been  what  I  thought  thee, 
life  would  be  easier  for  me  now ;  I  should  have  consolation 
and  hope.  Dost  thou  know  that  everything  which  I  did 
for  some  years  I  did  because  of  thee  and  for  thy  sake  ?  I 
worked  like  an  ox ;  I  did  not  rest  at  night ;  I  gained  cer- 
tain medals  and  diplomas.  Through  thee  I  lived ;  through 
thee  I  breathed ;  of  thee  I  thought.  And  now  there  is  a 
desert  before  me,  in  which  grief  is  howling,  like  a  dog. 
Nothing  remains  to  me.  I  am  curious  to  know  if  thou 
wilt  think  even  once  of  this. 


268  AT  THE   SOURCE. 

But  beyond  doubt  thy  sober-minded  parents  will  ex- 
plain to  their  daughter  that  I  am  a  student,  and  that 
this  is  my  stupid  exaltation.  As  to  being  a  student,  if  I 
were  one  yet,  I  might  answer,  like  Shakespeare's  Shylock, 
Have  we  not  hands,  organs,  dimensions,  senses,  affections, 
passions  ?  If  you  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed  ?  If  you 
wrong  us,  shall  we  not  revenge?  It  is  not  permissible 
to  wrong  any  man,  no  matter  who  he  be.  My  exal- 
tation, stupid  or  not,  gives  no  man  the  right  to  injure 
me.  It  is  well  that  this  present  society  of  ours,  which 
is  like  a  great  soulless  edifice  composed  of  stupidity, 
lies,  and  hypocrisy,  is  cracking  and  falling,  since  no 
one  can  live  in  it.  I  have  some  leisure  now ;  I  am  a 
doctor  of  philosophy.  I  will  dwell  as  a  philosopher 
on  various  human  relations,  which  have  recoiled  on  me 
recently  with  such  effect.  For  you  people  of  judgment, 
so  called,  it  is  enough  if  you  find  a  vain  word,  an  empty 
name  for  a  thing.  Let  some  other  man  break  his  neck 
on  the  thing  itself.  Well,  never  mind.  Exaltation ! 
What  profit  is  there  for  me  in  the  word,  if  that  to  which 
you  apply  it  wrings  my  entrails  ?  What  aid  to  me  is  your 
dictionary  ?  Meanwhile  you  deny  the  right  of  existence 
to  everything  which  your  blunted  nerves  cannot  feel. 
When  the  teeth  have  dropped  from  your  superannuated 
jaws,  you  cea.se  to  believe  in  toothache.  But  rheumatism 
is  serious ;  rheumatism  hurts,  while  love  is  only  exaltation. 
When  I  think  of  this,  two  men  rise  up  in  me,  —  one  the 
student  of  yesterday,  who  in  the  name  of  the  present 
would  hammer  human  dulness  with  the  back  of  an  axe, 
the  other  a  person  deeply  injured,  who  wishes  to  curse 
and  to  sob.  It  is  impossible  to  live  thus.  We  have  had 
enough  of  this  idealism  in  words,  and  utilitarianism  in 
acts.  The  time  is  coming  when  men  must  fit  their  deeds 
to  high  principles,  or  have  courage  to  proclaim  principles 


AT  THE   SOURCE.  269 

as  cynical  as  their  deeds.  God  alone  knows  how  often  I 
have  heard  Tola's  parents  say  that  wealth  does  not  con- 
stitute happiness,  that  character  is  worth  more  than 
wealth,  that  peace  of  conscience  is  the  highest  good. 
Are  those  statements  true  ?  Well,  if  they  are,  I  have 
some  character,  great  industry,  a  calm  conscience ;  I  am 
young  and  I  love.  Still,  they  turned  me  out  of  their 
house.  Were  I  to  win  half  a  million  in  the  lottery,  they 
would  give  me  their  daughter  to-morrow  with  delight. 
Her  father  would  come  to  my  room  in  the  morning  and 
open  his  arms  to  me  —  as  God  is  in  heaven  he  would. 

If  a  man  wishes  to  be  a  merchant,  let  him  know  at 
least  how  to  reckon ;  but  you,  though  positive,  do  not 
know  even  this.  That  position  of  yours  and  that  judg- 
ment of  yours  conduct  you  to  illusions.  You  do  not 
know  how  to  reckon  —  do  you  hear  ?  I  do  not  say  this 
in  excitement;  there  is  no  exaggeration  in  my  words. 
Love  exists  and  is  real,  hence  we  must  recognize  it  as  an 
actual  value.  Were  a  mathematician  of  genius  to  ap- 
pear, he  would  show  you  this  value  in  money,  and  then 
you  would  seize  your  heads  and  cry,  "  Oh,  what  wealth  ! " 
Love  is  just  as  positive  and  tangible,  just  as  absolute  in 
life  as  is  money.  The  reckoning  is  simple:  life  has  as 
much  value  as  the  happiness  contained  in  it.  Love  is  an 
enormous  capital,  an  inexhaustible  source  of  happiness, 
as  great  as  youth  and  health.  But  such  simple  truths  as 
this  cannot  find  room  in  your  heads.  I  repeat  that  you 
know  not  how  to  reckon.  A  million  is  worth  a  million 
and  not  a  copper  more  ;  but  you  think  that  it  is  worth  as 
much  besides  as  all  the  other  good  in  life.  Because  of 
this  error  you  are  wandering  in  a  world  completely  arti- 
ficial, and  you  deceive  yourselves  as  to  values.  You  are 
romantic,  but  your  romanticism  is  paltry,  since  it  is  pecu- 
niary, and  besides  it  is  harmful,  since  it  breaks  and  spoils 


270  AT  THE   SOURCE. 

the  lives,  not  only  of  people  who  do  not  concern  you,  but 
the  lives  of  your  own  children  also. 

Tola  would  have  had  a  pleasant  life  with  me;  she 
would  have  been  happy.  That  being  true,  what  more  do 
you  wish  ?  Do  not  answer  that  she  would  have  refused 
me.  If  you  had  not  killed  in  her,  by  your  teaching,  all 
freedom,  will,  sincerity,  and  courage,  I  should  not  be  sit- 
ting alone  now,  with  a  head  bursting  from  pain.  No  one 
has  looked  into  Tola's  eyes  as  I  have ;  no  one  knows 
better  what  she  felt  and  what  she  would  have  been  had 
you  not  poisoned  the  soul  in  her. 

But  now  I  have  lost  Tola,  and  with  her  much  else,  by 
which  one  lives  as  by  bread,  and  without  which  one  dies. 
Oh,  you,  my  parents,  and  thou,  my  lost  wife  !  at  times  I 
admit  that  you  are  unconscious  of  what  you  have  done, 
or  you  would  come  to  me  now.  It  cannot  be  that  you 
have  no  compassion  for  me.  .  . 

What  use  in  reproaches  ?  Eight  is  on  my  side.  All 
that  I  have  written  is  strict  truth,  but  that  truth  will 
not  bring  Tola  back  to  me. 

And  here  is  the  gulf ;  for  I  cannot  comprehend  how 
justice  and  truth  can  be  useless.  All  that  I  have  on  my 
side  is  useless  to  me,  absolutely  useless.  Still  the  world 
must  be  constructed  just  as  men's  minds  are ;  how 
conies  the  break,  then  ?  If  constructed  differently,  we 
must  continue  forever  in  our  vicious  circle ;  I  can  write 
no  more. 

After  a  long  time  I  turn  to  my  pen  again.  Let  reality 
speak  for  itself.  I  narrate  simply  that  which  took  place. 
The  explanation  came  only  after  a  long  series  of  events  ; 
therefore  I  give  them  in  the  order  of  their  happening 
before  I  could  understand  the  causes  myself. 


AT  THE   SOURCE.  271 

On  the  morning  after  that  day  of  disaster  Tola's  father 
came  to  me.  When  I  saw  him,  I  grew  rigid.  There  was 
a  moment  when  all  thoughts  flew  from  my  head,  as  a 
flock  of  birds  fly  from  a  tree.  I  think  that  one  must  feel 
something  similar  at  the  moment  of  death.  But  his  face 
was  mild,  and  right  on  the  threshold  he  began  to  speak, 
stretching  his  hands  toward  me,  — 

"  Well,  we  have  spent  a  bad  night,  have  we  not  ?  I 
understand  that ;  I  was  young  myself  once." 

I  made  no  answer ;  I  understood  nothing ;  I  did  not 
believe  that  I  saw  him  before  my  face.  Meanwhile  he 
shook  my  hands,  forced  me  to  sit  down,  and,  seating 
himself  in  front  of  me,  continued,  — 

"  Eecover  yourself ;  be  calm ;  let  us  talk  like  honest 
people.  My  dear  sir,  do  you  think  that  you  are  the 
only  person  who  lay  awake  ?  We  have  not  slept  either. 
As  soon  as  we  recovered  a  little  after  you  left  us,  we 
felt  badly  enough  to  be  beyond  help.  We  did  indeed  ! 
When  something  is  sprung  on  a  man  suddenly,  he  loses 
his  head  and  then  passes  the  measure.  We  were  grieved, 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  ashamed.  The  child  rushed  off  to 
her  chamber ;  and  the  old  people,  like  old  people,  fell  to 
throwing  the  blame  on  each  other.  Thou  art  at  fault, 
woman  !  thou  art  at  fault,  man !  said  we  to  each  other. 
Such  is  human  nature.  But  later  came  reflection  and 
regret.  He  is  young,  honorable,  capable ;  he  loves  our 
child  with  his  whole  heart,  it  seems;  why  in  God's  name 
were  we  so  stubborn  ?  One  thing  will  explain  our  feel- 
ings. Should  you  ever  be  a  father,  you  will  understand 
this,  that  in  parents'  eyes  nothing  is  enough  for  their 
child.  Still  it  occurred  to  us  that  that  which  seemed 
little  to  us  might  satisfy  Tola,  so  we  made  up  our  minds 
that  it  was  better  to  inquire  what  the  girl  had  in  her 
heart,  and  we  called  her  to  counsel.  The  third  coun- 


272  AT  THE   SOURCE. 

seller  was  a  good  one !  there  is  no  denying  that.  When 
she  fell  to  embracing  our  feet,  and  put  her  dear  head 
on  our  knees,  in  this  way  —  Well,  you  know  parents' 
hearts  —  " 

Here  he  was  moved  himself,  and  for  a  time  we  sat  in 
silence.  Everything  that  I  heard  seemed  to  me  a  dream, 
a  fairy  tale,  a  miracle ;  my  suffering  began  to  change 
into  hope.  Tola's  father  mastered  his  emotion,  and 
continued,  — 

"  Indeed,  thou  hast  piled  mountains  on  us,  but  we  are 
people  of  good  will,  though  quick-tempered ;  and,  in 
proof  of  this,  I  will  say  that  if  thou  prefer  Tola  to  thy 
feeling  of  offence  —  come  — 

And  he  opened  his  arms  to  me.  I  fell  into  them,  half 
conscious,  half  bewildered,  happy.  I  felt  that  my  throat 
was  contracting,  that  I  was  fit  only  to  burst  into  sobbing. 
I  wanted  absolutely  to  say  something,  but  could  not.  I 
had  in  my  soul  one  scream  of  delight,  astonishment,  and 
gratitude.  All  this  had  fallen  on  me  at  once,  like  a 
thunderbolt ;  neither  my  head  nor  my  heart  could  take 
it  in,  and  I  felt  pain  almost  from  that  excess  of  change, 
that  excess  of  thoughts  and  feelings.  Tola's  father  re- 
moved my  hands  gently  from  his  shoulders,  and,  kissing 
me  on  the  forehead,  said,  — 

"  That  is  well  now,  well !  I  expected  this  of  thee  after 
thy  attachment  to  her.  Forget  what  has  happened,  and 
compose  thyself." 

Seeing,  however,  that  I  could  not  regain  self-control, 
or  master  my  emotion,  he  began  to  scold  me  good- 
naturedly,  — 

"  Be  a  man  ;  control  thyself  !  Thou  art  trembling  as  in 
a  fever !  Well,  but  that  little  boy  has  struck  in  deeply 
under  thy  rib." 

"  Oi,  deeply  !  "  whispered  I,  with  an  effort. 


AT  THE   SOURCE.  273 

The  father  smiled  and  said,  — 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  but  he  seemed  like  still  water." 

Evidently  my  immense  love  for  Tola  pleased  his 
parental  pride,  for  he  was  glad,  and  smiling  he  repeated 
continually,  — 

"  That 's  a  tick  !  that 's  a  tick  !  " 

I  felt  then  that  if  we  remained  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
longer  in  the  room  something  in  my  head  would  give 
way.  Under  ordinary  conditions  I  can  command  myself, 
but  this  time  the  transition  was  too  great.  I  needed  to 
breathe  fresh  air,  to  see  the  movement  on  the  streets ; 
above  all,  I  needed  to  see  Tola,  and  convince  myself  that 
she  was  really  existing,  that  all  this  was  not  a  dream, 
and  that  they  were  giving  her  to  me  really. 

I  asked  Tola's  father  then  to  go  to  his  house  with  me ; 
he  consented  with  gladness. 

"  I  wished  to  propose  that  myself,"  said  he  ;  "  for  surely 
some  little  nose  there  is  flattening  itself  against  a  window- 
pane,  and  eyes  are  looking  into  the  street.  Thou  art  not 
in  a  condition  now  to  discuss  serious  matters ;  we  will  do 
that  hereafter." 

A  few  moments  later  we  were  on  the  street.  At  first 
I  looked  at  people,  houses,  carriages,  as  a  man  who  has 
come  out  for  the  first  time  after  a  long  illness,  and  feels 
dizziness  of  the  head.  Gradually,  however,  movement 
and  fresh  air  restored  me.  Above  all  thoughts  one  was 
dominant :  "  Tola  loves  thee ;  in  a  moment  thou  wilt  see 
her ! "  I  felt  a  throbbing  in  my  temples  as  mighty  as 
hammer  strokes,  and  really  a  good  hoop  was  needed 
round  my  head  to  contain  it.  An  hour  before  I  had 
thought  that  I  should  never  see  Tola  again  in  life,  or 
should  see  her  sometime  in  some  place  the  wife  of 
another.  And  now  I  was  going  to  her  to  tell  her  that 
she  would  be  mine ;  and  I  was  going  because  she  had 

18 


274  AT   THE   SOURCE. 

stretched  out  her  hand  first.  Yesterday  I  called  her  a 
senseless  doll,  and  still  she  had  thrown  herself  at  the 
feet  of  her  parents,  imploring  for  both  of  us.  My  heart 
was  overflowing  with  sorrow,  repentance,  tenderness,  and 
a  feeling  that  I  was  unworthy  of  Tola ;  I  swore  to  myself 
to  reward  her  for  this,  to  pay  with  attachment  and  bound- 
less devotion  for  each  tear  of  hers  shed  yesterday. 

Others  grew  blind  in  love ;  I  had  no  need  to  grow 
blind,  for  deeds  were  pleading  for  Tola.  She  had  wrought 
this  miracle.  I  had  done  her  injustice.  I  had  done  her 
parents  injustice  as  well.  Had  they  been  such  as  I  had 
thought  them,  they  would  not  have  let  themselves  be 
persuaded.  They  would  not  have  reached  that  simpli- 
city, not  merely  human,  but  angelic,  with  which  her 
father  came  to  me  and  said :  "  We  were  mistaken ; 
take  her ! "  Neither  society  ceremonial  nor  vanity  had 
the  power  to  restrain  him  from  this. 

I  remembered  his  words :  "  Indeed,  thou  didst  pile 
mountains  on  us,  but  we  are  people  of  good  will,  though 
quick-tempered."  That  simplicity  crushed  me  the  more, 
the  greater  the  mountains  which  I  had  piled  on  them 
yesterday.  Not  a  word  beyond  these,  no  lofty  phrases, 
a  playful  smile,  —  that  was  all.  When  I  thought  of  this 
I  could  not  restrain  myself  longer  ;  I  seized  his  hand,  and 
raised  it  with  reverence  to  my  lips. 

He  smiled  again  with  that  kindly  clear  smile,  and 
said, — 

"  My  wife  and  I  have  said  this  long  time  that  our 
son-in-law  must  love  us." 

And  it  happened  as  they  wished,  for  before  I  was  their 
son-in-law  I  loved  them  as  if  I  had  been  their  own  son. 

As  I  was  walking  very  fast,  Tola's  father  began  to  jest ; 
he  puffed,  and  pretended  to  be  suffering,  said  that  he 
could  not  keep  pace  with  me,  complained  of  the  heat. 


AT  THE   SOURCE.  275 

In  fact,  the  winter  had  broken  the  day  before.  A  warm 
breeze  wrinkled  the  water  in  the  city  garden,  and  in  the 
air  there  was  a  species  of  revival,  a  kind  of  spring  power. 
At  last  we  were  in  front  of  the  house.  Something  van- 
ished from  the  window  and  disappeared  in  the  depth  of 
the  room ;  I  was  not  sure  that  it  was  Tola.  On  the  steps 
my  heart  began  to  throb  again.  I  feared  the  mother. 
When  we  had  passed  the  dining-hall  we  found  her  in 
the  drawing-room.  As  I  entered,  she  approached  me 
quickly  and  reached  out  her  hand,  which  I  kissed  rever- 
entially and  with  gratitude,  stammering  meanwhile,  — 

"  How  have  I  deserved  this  ?  " 

"  Forgive  us  yesterday's  refusal,"  said  she.  "  We  had 
not  thought  of  this,  that  Tola  could  find  no  greater  at- 
tachment in  the  whole  world." 

"  She  could  not !    She  could  not !  "  cried  I,  with  ardor. 

"  And  since  the  happiness  of  our  child  is  for  us  beyond 
everything,  we  give  her  to  you,  and  I  can  only  say : 
God  grant  you  both  happiness  !  " 

She  pressed  my  temples  then ;  after  that  she  turned 
toward  the  door  and  called,— 

"  Tola ! " 

And  my  love  came  in,  pale,  with  reddened  eyes,  with 
bits  of  hair  dropping  on  her  forehead,  confused,  moved 
just  as  I  was.  How  it  was  that  nothing  in  her  escaped 
my  attention,  I  know  not.  I  only  know  this,  I  saw  tears 
gathering  under  her  eyelids,  her  quivering  lips,  delight 
breaking  through  the  tears,  and  a  smile  under  the  con- 
fusion. She  stood  for  a  moment  with  arms  hanging,  as 
if  at  a  loss  what  to  do ;  then  her  father,  whom,  as  was 
evident,  humor  never  deserted,  said,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  — 

"  Ha  !  a  hard  case  to  cure  !  he  has  grown  stubborn,  and 
will  not  have  thee." 


•276  AT  THE   SOUECE. 

She  looked  at  me  quickly,  threw  herself  on  her  father's 
neck,  and  called,  as  if  in  an  outburst,  — 
"  I  do  not  believe  it ;  I  do  not  believe  it ! " 
If  I  had  followed  my  heart's  first  impulse,  I  should 
have  fallen  at  her  feet.     I  did  not  do  that  simply  through 
lack  of  courage,  and  because  I  had  lost  my  head.     I  had 
just  presence  of  mind  enough  to  repeat  in  my  soul,  "  Do 
not  roar  out,  thou  ass  !  "     The  honest  father  came  again 
to  our  rescue ;  freeing  himself  from  Tola's  embrace,  he 
said,  as  if  angry  with  her,  — 

"  If  thou  dost  not  believe  me,  then  go  to  him." 
And  he  pushed  her  toward  me.  Heaven  opened  before 
me  at  that  moment.  I  seized  her  hands.  I  kissed  them 
with  delight,  and  I  know  not  myself  how  long  it  was 
before  I  could  take  my  lips  from  them.  More  than  once 
I  had  imagined  myself  kissing  her  hands,  but  it  is  not 
for  imagination  to  measure  itself  with  reality !  My  love, 
so  far,  had  been  like  a  plant  shut  up  in  darkness.  Now 
it  was  carried  suddenly  into  bright  air  to  luxuriate  in 
warmth  and  in  sunlight,  hence  the  measure  of  my  happi- 
ness was  filled.  I  drank  openly  from  the  source  of  good 
and  delight.  To  love  and  imprison  that  love  in  thyself, 
to  love  and  feel  that  thou  art  entering  on  thy  right  to  love 
and  take  possession,  —  are  things  entirely  different.  I  not 
only  had  not  had,  but  I  could  not  have  had,  any  com- 
prehension of  this. 

The  parents  blessed  us,  and  went  out  on  purpose 
to  leave  us  alone,  so  that  we  might  tell  each  other 
all  that  we  felt.  But  at  first,  instead  of  speaking,  I 
only  looked  at  her  with  ravishment,  and  her  face  changed 
beneath  my  gaze.  Blushes  covered  her  cheeks ;  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  quivered  with  a  smile  full  of  tim- 
idity and  embarrassment ;  her  eyes  were  mist-covered ; 
her  head  sank,  as  it  were,  between  her  shoulders ;  at  mo- 


AT  THE   SOURCE.  277 

ments  she  dropped  her  eyelids  and  seemed  to  wait  for  my 
words. 

At  last,  we  sat  down  side  by  side  at  the  window,  each 
holding  the  other's  hand.  Till  that  day  she  had  been  for 
me,  not  of  flesh  and  blood,  as  it  were,  but  an  abstraction, 
a  beloved  spirit,  a  precious  name,  an  admired  charm 
rather  than  a  person ;  when  her  arm  touched  mine,  how- 
ever, and  I  felt  the  warmth  of  her  face,  I  could  not  resist 
a  certain  astonishment  that  she  was  so  real.  A  beloved 
woman  seems  known  but  not  felt  till  one  is  near  her. 
Now  I  looked  with  as  much  wonder  at  her  face,  her  mouth, 
her  eyes,  her  bright  hair,  and  her  still  brighter  eyelashes, 
as  if  I  had  never  seen  her  till  that  moment.  I  was 
carried  away  by  her.  Never  had  a  face  so  satisfied  all 
my  dreams  of  woman's  beauty ;  no  one  had  ever  attracted 
me  so  irresistibly  as  she.  And  when  I  thought  that  all 
those  treasures  would  be  mine,  that  they  belonged  to  me 
already,  and  were  my  highest  good,  the  whole  world 
whirled  around  with  me. 

At  last  I  spoke.  I  told  her  feverishly  how  I  had  loved 
her  from  almost  the  very  first  moment,  a  year  and  a  half 
before,  in  Velichka,  where  I  met  her  by  chance  in  a  large 
society,  to  me  unknown,  and  where  she  had  grown  faint 
at  the  bottom  of  the  salt  mine ;  and  I  ran  to  the  well  for 
water.  The  next  day  I  paid  a  visit  to  her  parents  ;  from 
that  visit  I  came  away  in  love  completely. 

All  this,  as  I  supposed,  was  perfectly  known  to  her ; 
but  she  listened  with  the  greatest  delight,  blushing,  and 
sometimes  even  asking  questions  in  a  low  voice.  I  spoke 
a  long  time,  and  toward  the  end  less  stupidly  than  I  had 
expected.  I  told  how  afterward  she  had  been  my  only 
strength ;  how  deeply  and  dreadfully  unhappy  I  was 
yesterday  when  I  said  to  myself  that  all  was  lost,  and 
that  I  had  lost  faith  in  her  also. 


278  AT   THE   SOURCE. 

"  I  was  just  as  unhappy,"  said  she.  "  And  it  is  true 
that  at  first  I  could  not  stammer  out  a  word,  but  later 
I  tried  to  correct  everything." 

After  a  while  we  were  both  silent.  In  me  there  was 
a  struggle  between  timidity  and  a  wish  to  kiss  her  feet ; 
at  last,  in  the  most  monstrously  awkward  way  possible, 
and  worthy  of  the  last  of  idiots,  I  asked  her  if  she  loved 
me  even  a  little. 

She  strove  for  a  time  to  give  me  an  answer,  but,  unable 
to  bring  herself  to  it,  she  rose  and  left  the  room. 

She  returned  quickly  with  an  album  in  her  hand ;  she 
sat  again  at  my  side  and  showed  me  a  drawing,  my  own 
portrait. 

"  I  sketched  this,"  said  she,  "  from  memory." 

"  Is  it  possible  ? " 

"  But  there  is  something  more,"  added  she,  putting  her 
finger  on  the  paper. 

Then  only  did  I  note  that  at  the  side  near  the  edge  of 
the  paper,  were  the  letters  j.  v.  a.,  in  a  very  small  hand. 

"  This  is  read  in  French,"  whispered  Tola. 

"  In  French  ? " 

And  in  my  boundless  simplicity,  I  could  not  think 
what  they  meant  till  she  began,  — 

"  Je  vous  — " 

And  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands,  she  bent  so  low  that 
I  saw  the  short  hair  on  her  neck,  and  her  neck  itself. 
Then  I  guessed  at  last  and  said  with  throbbing  heart,  — 

"  Now  I  may,  I  may  — 

She  raised  her  face,  smiling  and  radiant,  — 

"  And  you  must,"  added  she,  blinking,  and,  as  it  were, 
commanding  me  for  the  future. 

At  that  moment  they  called  us  to  lunch.  At  that 
lunch,  I  might  have  eaten  knives  and  forks  without 
knowing  it. 


AT   THE    SOURCE.  279 

A  man  grows  accustomed  to  nothing  so  easily  as  to  hap- 
piness. All  that  had  passed  was  simply  a  series  of 
miracles,  but  two  days  later  it  seemed  to  me  perfectly 
natural  that  Tola  was  my  betrothed.  I  thought  that  it 
ought  to  be  so,  that  she  was  mine ;  and  for  this  reason 
solely,  that  no  other  man  loved  her  as  I  did. 

Finally,  the  news  of  my  betrothal  went  about  through 
the  city,  and  I  began  to  receive  congratulations  from  my 
comrades.  Tola  and  I  drove  out  beyond  the  suburbs  with 
her  parents,  on  which  occasion  many  persons  saw  us  to- 
gether. I  remember  that  drive  perfectly.  Tola,  in  a 
sack  trimmed  with  otter-skin,  and  a  cap  trimmed  with 
the  same  fur,  looked  like  a  vision,  for  her  transparent 
complexion  seemed  more  delicate  with  the  dark  bronze 
color  of  the  trimmings.  All  turned  to  look  after  us,  and 
so  admired  was  she  that  some  of  my  acquaintances  stood 
as  if  fixed  to  the  pavement. 

Beyond  the  barriers,  when  we  had  passed  rows  of 
cottages,  each  lower  than  the  other,  we  reached  the  open 
country  at  last.  In  the  fields,  between  rows  of  trees,  lay 
clear  water,  and  on  this,  light  in  long  streaks  was  shining. 
The  meadows  were  flooded ;  the  groves  had  no  leaves ; 
but  we  felt  the  presence  of  spring.  Then  came  the  mo- 
ment of  darkness,  during  which  there  is  great  calm  in 
the  world ;  such  a  calm  took  possession  also  of  us.  After 
the  violent  impressions  of  preceding  days,  I  felt  a  great 
and  sweet  calmness.  I  had  before  me  the  dear  face  of 
Tola,  rosy  from  the  movement  of  air,  but  also  soothed  in 
that  peace  and  thoughtful.  We  were  both  silent,  and 
only  looked  at  each  other  from  moment  to  moment 
and  smiled.  For  the  first  time  -in  life  I  understood  the 
meaning  of  undimmed,  perfect  happiness.  As  I  was  very 
young  and  had  lived  through  little,  I  had,  in  fact,  no 


280  AT  THE   SOURCE. 

heavy  sins  on  my  conscience,  but,  like  all  men,  I  bore 
with  me  my  own  load  of  defects,  faults,  and  failures.  Be- 
hold, at  that  moment  this  burden  dropped  from  my  shoul- 
ders. I  felt  in  my  bosom  no  bitterness.  I  had  not  the 
least  dislike  for  people ;  I  was  ready  to  forgive  and  help 
every  one.  I  felt  renewed  altogether,  just  as  if  love  had 
taken  the  soul  out  of  me  and  put  into  my  body  an 
angel  immediately. 

And  this  had  happened  because  it  was  permitted  me 
to  love,  and  she,  that  dear  one  sitting  opposite,  had  been 
given  to  me.  What  is  more,  for  that  very  reason  the  four 
persons  in  that  carriage  were  not  merely  what  is  called 
happy ;  they  were  better  than  ever  they  had  been  before. 
All  the  pettinesses  of  society,  the  paltry  ambitions,  the 
pitiful  views  of  existence  ;  all  that  which  debases  life  and 
makes  it  repulsive,  flat,  and  deceitful,  —  We  had  shaken 
away,  together  with  the  former  sorrow  and  bitterness. 
Tola's  parents  had  barely  opened  their  house  to  this 
blessed  guest  when  we  began  to  live  more  broadly  and 
loftily  than  ever  before. 

Hence  I  could  not  understand  why  people  so  often  re- 
ject that  which  in  life  is  the  one,  the  supreme  good- 
Still  oftener  do  they  squander  it.  I  know  those 
petty  wise-saws  which  circulate  like  counterfeit  monej' : 
that  love  withers,  grows  old,  passes  away,  vanishes,  and 
that  finally  habit  alone  is  the  bond  between  man  and 
woman.  Now  I  will  show  that  this  truth  relates  solely 
to  stupid  or  pitiful  people.  There  are  chosen  souls,  who 
know  how  to  avoid  that  condition ;  I  have  met  such  in 
the  world,  hence  I  myself  have  the  wish  and  the  will 
to  become  one  of  them.  If  this  flame  to-day  makes  me 
so  happy,  my  first  duty,  and  the  most  direct  task  of  self- 
ishness, is  that  it  should  not  quench,  that  it  should  not 
even  decrease  in  the  future.  Therefore  I  will  defy  that 


AT   THE   SOURCE.  281 

future !  it  has  time  on  its  side.  I  have  my  great  love  and 
good  will.  To  live  with  Tola  and  cease  to  love  her,  —  we 
will  see  about  that ! 

All  at  once  an  irresistible  desire  mastered  me  to  begin 

o 

that  life  at  the  earliest.  I  knew  that  society  customs  did 
not  permit  betrothed  persons  to  marry  before  the  end  of 
certain  weeks,  or  months,  but  I  remembered  that  I  had  to 
deal  with  exceptional  people.  I  was  convinced  that  Tola 
would  aid  me,  and  I  determined  to  involve  her  in  the 
affair. 

On  our  return  home,  when  they  left  us  alone,  I  con- 
fessed my  thoughts  to  her.  She  listened  with  immense 
delight.  I  saw  that  not  only  the  plan  itself,  but  even 
discussion  concerning  it,  had  for  her  the  charm  of  a  lover's 
conspiracy,  and  simply  carried  her  away.  At  moments  she 
had  the  look  of  a  child  to  whom  people  promise  some 
wonderful  amusement  which  is  soon  to  appear,  and  she 
could  not  restrain  herself  from  dancing  through  the  room. 
We  did  not  mention  the  matter  that  evening,  however  ; 
but  at  tea  I  told  of  my  hopes  for  the  future,  and  the  paths 
which  were  opening  before  me.  Tola's  parents  listened  as 
though  those  hopes  had  been  realized.  Could  I  have 
supposed  those  people  of  dove-like  simplicity  to  be 
acting  through  politeness,  I  should  have  called  that  polite- 
ness the  very  wisest,  for  seeing  their  faith  and  confidence 
I  said  to  myself,  Though  I  were  to  lay  down  my  head  I  will 
not  deceive  you. 

I  took  leave  at  a  late  hour.  Tola  hastened  after  me  to 
the  entrance,  and  repeated,  in  a  whisper,  — 

"  Let  it  be  so ;  let  it  be  so.  Why  delay  ?  I  am  not  fond 
of  delay  !  let  it  be  so.  Good-night.  I  fear  only  mamma, 
mamma  will  be  thinking  of  the  wedding  outfit." 

I  did  not  understand  very  clearly  why  she  should  make 
a  wedding  outfit,  since  young  ladies,  as  young  ladies,  must 


282  AT   THE    SOURCE. 

have  at  all  times  a  certain  supply  of  dresses.  But  in  its 
own  way  every  expression  of  that  sort  made  me  happy  to 
a  high  degree,  since  it  confirmed  in  some  way  that  I  was 
not  dreaming,  that  in  truth  I  was  going  to  marry  Tola. 
While  returning  home  I  repeated  involuntarily  :  Wedding 
clothes,  wedding  clothes  !  I  do  not  foresee  that  through 
them  any  great  difficulty  can  rise.  I  saw,  however,  with 
the  eyes  of  my  soul  a  multitude  of  dresses,  bright,  dark, 
many-colored,  and  I  fell  in  love  with  each  of  them  in  turn. 
Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  must  arrange  a  house  in 
which  to  receive  Tola.  I  found  new  delight  in  this  thought. 
I  needed  money  a  little,  but  determined  in  spite  of  that  to 
arrange  all  at  the  earliest.  I  could  not  sleep  in  the  night, 
for  I  had  my  head  full  of  dresses,  tables,  cupboards,  and 
armchairs.  Some  time  since  I  could  not  sleep  because  of 
suffering ;  later  I  could  not  sleep  from  delight. 

Next  morning  I  visited  the  cabinet-maker.  He  under- 
stood in  a  flash  what  I  needed.  He  showed  me  various 
pieces  of  furniture.  At  sight  of  these  I  saw  tangibly  my 
future  life  with  Tola,  just  as  if  I  had  known  it  all,  but  my 
heart  began  to  palpitate.  The  cabinet-maker  advised  me 
to  paint  the  walls,  as  paper  would  need  a  long  time  to  dry. 
The  active  man  promised  to  undertake  that  task  for  a 
proper  reward. 

From  his  place  I  went  to  two  intimate  comrades  to  in- 
vite them  as  best  men ;  of  my  own  family  I  had  not  a 
living  soul.  Their  congratulations  and  embraces  were 
mingled  with  other  impressions  in  my  head,  and  roused 
there  a  genuine  chaos. 

I  found  Tola  in  the  drawing-room.  I  had  barely  kissed 
her  hands  when  she  came  to  my  ear  on  tiptoe  and  whis- 
pered one  sentence,  — 


AT   THE   SOURCE.  283 

"  They  have  permitted  ! " 

The  last  shadow  on  my  happiness  vanished.  Tola  was 
as  radiant  with  delight  as  a  burning  candle  is  with  fire. 
We  walked  hand  in  hand  through  the  room  and  con- 
versed. She  told  me  how  everything  had  happened. 

"  At  first  mamma  said  that  that  was  impossible,  and 
then  she  said :  '  Thou  dost  not  even  understand  how 
very  unbecoming  it  is  for  a  young  lady  to  hasten  her 
wedding.'  Then  I  answered  that  we  were  both  hastening 
it.  Mamma  raised  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and  shrugged 
her  shoulders.  Papa  laughed,  embraced  me,  kissed  me 
on  the  forehead,  and  even  on  the  hand.  '  Thou  hast 
always  a  weakness  for  her,'  said  mamma ;  '  but  one  must 
consider  society  a  little.' 

"  '  Society  !  society  ! '  said  papa.  '  Society  will  not  give 
them  happiness  ;  they  must  find  happiness  for  themselves ; 
and  as  we  have  done  everything  just  the  opposite  of 
society,  let  it  be  the  same  to  the  end.  It  is  Lent  now ; 
but  immediately  after  Easter  they  can  marry,  and  the 
wedding  outfit  may  be  finished  afterward.' 

"  Mamma  yielded,  for  papa  always  insists  on  his  point. 
(I  suppose  you  will  be  like  him  too.)  Then  I  embraced 
mamma;  I  did  not  let  her  speak  a  word.  Only  later 
could  she  say,  '  All  is  done  in  mad  fashion.'  But  I  car- 
ried my  point  at  last.  Are  you  satisfied  ? " 

I  had  been  so  much  in  love,  or  so  timid,  that  I  had 
never  gone  so  far  as  to  take  her  in  my  arms.  Then  for 
the  first  time  I  wanted  to  embrace  her ;  but  she  put  me 
away  gently,  saying,  — 

"  It  is  so  nice  to  walk  arm  in  arm,  like  good  children." 

And  so  we  walked  on.  I  told  her  that  I  had  thought 
of  our  house,  and  had  given  orders  to  paint  the  walls,  not 
in  oil,  for  that  was  very  costly,  but  in  some  color  which 
dries  quickly,  and  is  exactly  like  oil.  Tola  repeated, 


284  AT   THE   SOURCE. 

"  Which  dries  quickly ; "  and  it  is  unknown  why  we 
both  began  to  laugh,  likely  for  the  reason  that  our  mutual 
delight  and  happiness  could  not  find  room  in  us.  We 
decided  that  the  little  drawing-room  should  be  red,  for 
though  that  color  is  common,  heads  appear  on  a  red  back- 
ground perfectly.  The  dining-room  was  to  be  in  bright 
green  tiles,  the  adjoining  room  in  faience  ;  of  others  we 
did  not  talk,  for  Tola's  shoestring  was  loose,  and  she 
went  to  the  next  room  to  tie  it. 

After  a  while  she  returned  with  her  father,  who  called 
me  a  water-burner  and  a  Tartar ;  but  at  the  same  time  he 
promised  that  the  ceremony  should  take  place  on  Tues- 
day after  the  holidays. 

During  the  first  days  our  love  was  all  emotion  and  had 
ceaseless  tears  in  its  eyes ;  but  afterward  it  bloomed  out 
in  gladness,  like  a  flower  in  spring,  and  we  laughed  then 
whole  days. 

Because  of  the  lateness  of  the  holidays,  spring  was  in 
the  world.  The  trees  were  in  bud.  Before  Holy  Week 
Tola  and  I,  with  her  parents,  made  visits.  People  looked 
at  us  curiously  everywhere  ;  at  times  this  was  annoying. 
Some  older  ladies  put  glasses  on  their  eyes  at  sight  of  me ; 
but  I  had  to  pass  the  ordeal.  Tola,  joyous  and  fresh  as 
a  bird,  rewarded  me  a  hundredfold  for  those  irksome 
visits. 

I  looked  myself  to  the  painting  of  the  rooms.  Because 
of  the  weather  everything  dried  in  a  twinkle.  The  bed- 
room I  had  painted  in  rose-color. 

My  love  increased  daily.  I  was  sure  now  that  even 
were  Tola  to  change,  were  she  even  to  grow  ugly,  I  should 


AT  THE   SOURCE.  285 

say  to  myself,  "  Misfortune  has  touched  me ; "  but  I. 
would  not  cease  to  love  her.  A  man  in  that  state  yields 
himself  up  so  completely  that  he  knows  not  where  his 
own  /  ceases. 

We  amused  ourselves  often  like  children ;  at  times  we 
teased  each  other.  When,  for  example,  I  came  in  the 
morning  and  found  her  alone,  I  looked  through  the  room, 
as  if  not  observing  her  ;  I  looked  for  her,  and  asked,  "  Is 
there  no  one  here  who  is  loved  ? "  She  searched  in  the 
corners,  shook  her  bright  head,  and  answered,  "  No  !  it 
seems  not." — "But  that  young  lady?"  —  "Oh,  perhaps 
she  is  a  little ! "  Then  after  a  while  she  added  in  a 
whisper,  "  And  perhaps  greatly." 

At  that  time  a  new  feeling  involved  itself  in  my  love. 
Not  only  did  I  love  Tola,  but  I  liked  her  beyond  every- 
thing. I  was  dying  for  her  companionship.  I  could 
pass  whole  hours  with  her  talking  about  anything.  At 
times  we  talked  deeply  and  seriously  touching  our  future, 
though  in  general  I  avoided  all  discussions  and  theories 
on  the  theme  of  what  marriage  should  be ;  for  I  thought 
why  must  I  enclose  in  prearranged  formulas  that  which 
should  develop  spontaneously  from  love  itself.  There  is 
no  need  to  lay  before  flowers  theories  of  how  they  should 
bloom. 

Good  Friday  passed  silently,  gloomily.  On  the  streets 
there  was  mist,  and  a  light  rain  was  falling.  We  and 
Tola's  parents  went  to  the  cemetery ;  we  put  each  what 
we  chose  on  the  plates  of  beggars.  Tola,  dressed  in  black, 
serene,  calm,  and  dignified,  appeared  beautiful  as  never 
before.  At  moments,  in  the  gloom  of  the  church,  or  in 
the  light  of  the  candles,  her  face  was  perfectly  angelic. 
That  day  she  caught  a  slight  cold ;  and  I  raced  through 


286  AT   THE   SOURCE. 

all  the  cellars,  looking  for  old  Malaga,  which  some  one 
had  advised  her  to  drink. 

I  passed  Easter  at  the  house  of  Tola's  parents.  Not 
having  any  one  of  my  own  family,  I  understood  for  the 
first  time  what  it  is  to  have  persons  dear  to  one,  and  to  be 
dear  to  some  one  else.  The  next  Sunday  there  was  per- 
fect spring. 

Before  Easter  I  had  brought  some  sort  of  order  into 
our  house.  The  garden  had  begun  to  grow  green,  and  the 
old  cherry-trees  were  in  blossom. 

Just  before  the  holidays,  too,  came  from  the  press  my 
doctoral  essay  about  the  Neoplatonists.  Tola  undertook 
to  read  it.  Poor  thing  !  she  blinked,  broke  her  little  head, 
but  read  from  a  feeling  of  duty. 

And  now  memories  of  the  wedding  —  no,  rather, 
pictures  of  it  —  crowd  into  my  head,  confused,  in  dis- 
order, filled  with  single  impressions,  somewhat  feverish. 
I  see  the  whole  place  full  of  flowers ;  on  the  stairs,  and 
in  the  rooms.  There  is  a  hurrying  in  the  house,  the 
arrival  of  guests,  a  multitude  of  strange  or  little  known 
faces.  Tola  in  the  drawing-room,  arrayed  in  a  white 
robe,  with  a  veil,  was  as  beautiful  as  a  vision,  but  somehow 
different  from  what  she  was  usually ;  she  appeared  more 
dignified,  as  it  were,  less  near.  The  feeling  of  a  certain 
haste  and  movement  remained  with  me.  Everything 
that  happened  after  entering  the  church  seems  indefinite : 
the  church,  the  altar,  the  candles  on  the  altar,  at  the 
sides  brilliant  toilets  of  ladies,  curious  eyes,  whisper^. 
Tola  and  I  kneeling  before  the  altar  took  each  the  other's 
hand,  as  if  in  greeting ;  and  after  a  time  our  voices  were 
heard,  sounding  like  strange  voices,  "  I  take  thee  to  my- 
self," etc.  I  hear  till  this  moment  the  organ  and  the 


AT  THE   SOURCE  287 

mighty,  resonant  hymn,  "  Veni  Creator,"  which  broke 
forth  in  the  choir,  as  suddenly  as  a  cloud-burst.  I  have 
no  recollection  whatever  of  leaving  the  church ;  of  the 
wedding  there  is  left  in  my  mind  the  blessing  of  her 
parents,  and  the  supper.  Tola  sat  at  my  side;  and  I 
remember  that  from  moment  to  moment  she  raised  her 
hands  to  her  cheeks,  which  were  burning.  Through  the 
bouquets  on  the  table  I  saw  various  faces,  which  I  should 
not  recognize  now.  Our  health  was  drunk  with  applause 
and  great  clinking  of  glasses.  About  midnight  I  took 
my  wife  home. 

Of  the  road  there  will  always  remain  in  my  mind  the 
memory  of  her  head  resting  on  my  shoulder,  and  her 
white  veil  with  the  odor  of  violets. 

Next  morning  I  waited  for  her  at  tea  in  the  dining- 
room  ;  meanwhile  she,  after  dressing,  went  by  another 
door  to  the  garden,  for  I  saw  her  through  the  window 
against  the  background  of  the  cherry-tree.  I  ran  to  her 
immediately ;  she  turned,  pushed  her  head  toward  the 
tree,  as  if  wishing  to  hide  from  me. 

I  thought  that  she  was  jesting ;  so  creeping  up  quietly, 
I  caught  her  by  the  waist,  and  said,  — 

"  Good-morning.  But  who  is  hiding  from  her  husband  ? 
What  art  thou  doing  here  ? " 

Then  I  saw  that  she  was  blushing,  that  she  was  avoid- 
ing my  eyes  and  turning  away  from  me  really. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  thee,  Tola  ?  "  asked  I. 

"  See,"  answered  she,  confused,  "  the  wind  is  shaking 
the  blossoms  from  the  cherry-trees." 

"  Let  it  take  them,"  said  I,  "  if  only  thou  wilt  stay 
with  me." 

And  I  bent  her  head  toward  mine ;  but  she  whispered 
with  closed  eyes.  — 


288  AT  THE   SOURCE. 

"  Do  not  look  at  me  ;  go  away  — 

But  at  the  same  time  her  lips  pushed  toward  me 
almost  passionately,  and  I  met  them  with  delight. 

The  breeze  began  really  to  cast  white  blossoms  on  our 
heads. 

I  woke  and  saw  the  naked  walls  of  my  room. 

I  had  had  typhus,  —  and  a  very  bad  typhus ;  I  had 
lain  two  weeks  unconscious  in  fever. 

But  even  a  fever  is  sometimes  the  mercy  of  God. 

When  I  regained  consciousness  I  learned  that  Panna 
Antonina's  parents  had  taken  her  to  Venice. 

But  I,  lonely  as  before,  finish  my  confession,  which  is 
strange,  perhaps.  I  was  so  immensely  happy  in  my 
visions  that  I  wrote  them  down  at  once,  so  that  life's 
irony  might  not  be  lost.  I  conclude  the  above  reminis- 
cences without  sorrow,  and  with  rny  former  faith,  that 
among  all  sources  of  happiness,  that  from  which  I  drank 
during  the  fever  is  the  clearest  and  best. 

A  life  which  love  has  not  visited,  even  in  a  dream,  is 
worse  than  mine. 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 


19 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

IN    WHICH   WE   MAKE   THE    ACQUAINTANCE  OF   THE   HEEOES, 
AND   BEGIN    TO   HOPE    THAT    SOMETHING   WILL   FOLLOW. 

IN  Barania-Glova,  in  the  chancery  of  the  village- 
mayor,  it  was  as  calm  as  in  time  of  sowing  poppy- 
seed.  The  mayor,  a  peasant  no  longer  young,  whose 
name  was  Frantsishek  Burak,  was  sitting  at  the  table, 
and  scribbling  something  on  paper  with  strained  atten- 
tion ;  the  secretary  of  the  Commune,  Pan  Zolzik,  young 
and  full  of  hope,  was  standing  at  the  window  defending 
himself  from  flies. 

There  were  as  many  flies  in  the  chancery  as  in  a  cow- 
house. All  the  walls  were  spotted  from  them,  and  had 
lost  their  original  color.  Spotted  in  like  manner  were  the 
glass  on  the  image  hanging  over  the  table,  the  paper,  the 
seal,  the  crucifix,  and  the  mayor's  official  books. 

The  flies  lighted  on  the  mayor  too,  as  on  an  ordinary 
councilman  ;  but  they  were  attracted  particularly  by 
Pan  Zolzik's  head,  which  was  pomaded,  and  also  per- 
fumed with  violet.  Over  his  head  a  whole  swarm  was 
circling ;  they  sat  at  the  parting  of  his  hair  and  formed 
black,  living,  movable  spots.  Pan  Zolzik  from  time  to 
time  raised  his  hand  warily,  and  then  brought  it  down 
quickly  on  his  head;  the  slap  of  his  palm  was  heard, 


292  CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

the  swarm  flew  upward,  buzzing,  and  Pan  Zolzik,  seizing 
his  hair,  picked  out  the  corpses  and  threw  them  on  the 
floor. 

The  hour  was  four  in  the  afternoon.  Silence  reigned 
in  the  whole  village,  for  the  people  were  at  work  in  the 
fields ;  but  outside  the  chancery  window  a  cow  was 
scratching  herself  against  the  wall,  and  at  times  she 
showed  her  puffing  nostrils  through  the  window,  with 
saliva  hanging  from  her  muzzle. 

At  moments  she  threw  her  heavy  head  against  her  back 
to  drive  away  flies ;  at  moments  she  grazed  the  wall  with 
her  horn;  then  Pan  Zolzik  looked  out  through  the  win- 
dow, and  cried,  — 

"  Aa  !  hei !     May  the  —  " 

Then  he  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass  hanging  there  at 
the  window,  and  arranged  his  hair. 

At  last  the  mayor  broke  the  silence. 

"  Pan  Zolzik,"  said  he,  with  a  Mazovian  accent,  "  write 
that  rapurt ;  it  is  somehow  awkward  for  me.  Besides, 
you  are  the  writer  [secretary]." 

But  Pan  Zolzik  was  in  bad  humor,  and  whenever  he 
was  in  bad  humor  the  mayor  had  to  do  everything 
himself. 

"  Well,  what  if  I  am  the  secretary  ? "  replied  he,  with 
contempt.  "  The  secretary  is  here  for  the  purpose  of  writ- 
ing to  the  chief  and  the  commissioner;  but  to  such  a 
mayor  as  you  are,  write  yourself."  Then  he  added  with 
majestic  contempt,  "  But  what  is  a  mayor  to  me  ?  What  ? 
A  peasant,  and  that  is  the  end  of  it !  Do  what  you  like 
with  a  pEasant,  he  will  always  be  a  peasant ! " 

Then  he  arranged  his  hair,  and  looked  again  in  the  glass. 

The  mayor  felt  touched,  and  answered,  — 

"  But  see  here !  Have  n't  I  drunk  tea  with  the 
marshal  ? " 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  293 

"  A  great  deal  I  care  about  your  tea ! "  said  Zolzik, 
carelessly.  "  And  besides  without  arrack,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  That  is  not  true !  for  it  was  with  arrack." 

"  Well,  let  it  be  with  arrack  ;  but  still  I  will  not  write 
the  report !  " 

"If  the  gentleman  is  of  such  delicate  make-up,  why 
did  he  ask  to  be  secretary  ? "  answered  the  mayor,  in 
anger. 

"  But  who  asked  you  ?  I  am  secretary  only  through 
acquaintance  with  the  chief  — 

"  Oh,  great  acquaintance,  when  he  comes  here  you 
won't  let  a  breath  out  of  your  lips ! " 

"  Burak  !  Burak !  I  give  warning  that  you  are  letting 
your  tongue  out  too  much.  Your  peasant  bones  are 
sticking  in  my  throat,  together  with  your  office  of  secre- 
tary. A  man  of  education  can  only  grow  common  among 
you.  If  I  get  angry,  I  will  throw  the  secretaryship,  and 
you,  to  the  devil  — 

"  Will  you  !     And  what  will  become  of  you,  then  ? " 

"  What  ?  Shall  I  go  to  gnawing  the  rafters  without 
this  office  ?  A  man  with  education  will  take  care  of  him- 
self. Have  no  fear  about  a  man  with  education  !  Only 
yesterday  Stolbitski,  the  inspector,  said  to  me,  'Ei, 
Zolzik !  thou  wouldst  be  a  devil,  not  a  sub-inspector, 
for  thou  knowest  how  grass  grows.'  Talk  to  the  fool ! 
For  me  your  secretaryship  is  a  thing  to  be  spat  upon.  A 
man  with  education  — 

"  Oh,  but  the  world  will  not  come  to  an  end  if  you 
leave  us  ! " 

"  The  world  will  not  come  to  an  end,  but  you  will  dip 
a  dishcloth  in  a  tar  bucket,  and  write  in  the  books  with 
it.  It  will  be  pleasant  for  you  till  you  feel  the  stick 
through  your  velvet." 

The  mayor  began  to  scratch  his  head. 


294  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

"  If  anything  is  said  you  are  on  your  hind-legs  right 
away." 

"Well,  don't  open  your  lips  too  much  —  " 

"  There  it  is,  there  it  is  ! " 

Again  there  was  silence,  except  that  the  mayor's  pen 
was  squeaking  slowly  on  paper.  At  last  the  mayor 
straightened  himself,  wiped  his  pen  on  his  coat,  and 
said,  — 

"  Well,  now !     I  have  done  it,  with  the  help  of  God." 

"  Eead  what  you  have  tacked  together." 

"  What  had  I  to  tack  ?  I  have  written  out  accurately 
everything  that  is  needed." 

"  Head  it  over,  I  say." 

The  mayor  took  the  paper  in  both  hands  and  began  to 
read :  — 

"  To  the  Mayor  of  the  Commune  of  Lipa.  In  the  name 
of  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost.  Amen.  The  chief 
commanded  that  the  soldier  lists  be  ready  after  the  Mother 
of  God,  and  the  registers  with  you  in  the  parish  with  the 
priest,  and  also  our  men  go  to  you  to  harvest;  do  you 
understand  ?  That  they  be  written  out,  and  the  harvesters 
too,  to  send  before  the  Mother  of  God,  as  eighteen  years 
are  finished ;  for  if  you  do  not  do  this  you  will  catch  it  on 
the  head,  which  I  wish  to  myself  and  you.  Amen." 

The  worthy  mayor  heard  every  Sunday  how  the  priest 
ended  his  sermon  with  Amen,  so  the  ending  seemed  to 
him  as  final  as  it  was  appropriate  to  all  the  demands  of 
polite  style  ;  but  Zolzik  began  to  laugh.  "  How  is  that  ?  " 
inquired  he. 

"  Well,  write  better  you." 

"  Certainly  I  will  write,  because  I  blush  for  all  Barania- 
Glova." 

Zolzik  sat  down,  took  the  pen  in  his  hand,  made  a 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  295 

number  of  circles  with  it,  as  if  to  acquire  impetus,  and 
then  fell  to  writing  rapidly. 

The  notice  was  soon  ready ;  the  author  straightened 
his  hair,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

"  The  Mayor  of  the  Commune  of  Barauia-Glova  to  the 
Mayor  of  the  Commune  of  Lipa.  As  the  recruiting  lists 
are  to  be  ready  at  command  of  superior  authority  on  such 
and  such  a  day  of  such  and  such  a  year,  the  Mayor  of  the 
Commune  of  Lipa  is  notified  that  the  register  of  those 
peasants  of  Barania-Glova,  which  is  in  the  chancery  of  his 
parish,  is  to  be  taken  by  him  from  that  chancery  and  sent 
at  the  very  earliest  date  to  the  Commune  of  Barania-Glova. 
The  peasants  of  the  Commune  of  Barania-Glova  who  are  at 
work  in  Lipa  are  to  be  presented  in  Barania-Glova  on  the 
same  day  as  the  register." 

The  mayor  caught  those  sounds  with  eager  ear;  and 
his  face  expressed  an  occupation  and  a  concentration  of 
spirit  that  was  well-nigh  religious.  How  beautiful  and 
solemn  all  that  seemed  to  him ;  how  thoroughly  official  it 
was  !  Take,  for  example,  even  that  beginning  :  "As  the 
recruiting  lists,  etc."  The  mayor  adored  that  "  as  ; "  but 
he  never  could  learn  it,  or  rather  he  knew  how  to  begin 
with  it,  but  not  a  word  farther  could  he  go.  From 
Zolzik's  hand  that  flowed  just  like  water;  so  that  even 
in  the  chancery  of  the  district  no  one  wrote  better.  Next 
he  blackened  the  seal,  struck  it  on  the  paper  so  that  the 
tabb  quivered,  and  all  was  there  finished ! 

"  Well,  that  is  a  head  for  you,  that  is  a  head ! "  said  the 
mayor. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Zolzik,  mollified  ;  "  but  then  a  writer 
[secretary]  is  one  who  writes  books  — " 

"  Do  you  write  books  too  ?  " 

"  You  ask  as  if  you  did  not  know ;  but  the  chancery 
books,  who  writes  them?" 


296  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

"  True,"  said  the  mayor,  who  added,  after  a  while, 
"  The  lists  will  come  now  with  the  speed  of  a  thunderbolt." 

"  But  next  do  you  see  to  ridding  the  village  of  useless 
people." 

"  How  are  you  to  get  rid  of  them  ? " 

"I  tell  you  that  the  chief  has  complained  that  the 
people  in  Barania-Glova  are  not  as  they  should  be.  They 
are  always  drinking,  says  he.  '  Burak,'  says  he,  '  does  not 
look  after  the  people ;  so  the  matter  will  be  ground  out 
on  him.'  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  answered  the  mayor ;  "  that  all  is 
ground  out  on  me.  When  Rozalka  Kovaliha  was  brought 
to  bed,  the  court  decided  to  give  her  twenty-five,  so  that 
a  second  time  she  should  remember.  '  Because,'  said  the 
court,  '  that  is  not  nice  for  a  girl.'  Who  commanded  ? 
Was  it  I?  Not  I,  but  the  court.  What  had  I  to  do 
with  that.  Let  them  all  be  brought  to  bed  for  them- 
selves, if  they  like.  The  court  directed,  and  then  laid 
the  blame  on  me." 

At  this  juncture  the  cow  struck  the  wall  with  such 
force  that  the  chancery  trembled.  The  mayor  cried  out, 
with  a  voice  full  of  bitterness,  — 

"  Aa  !  hei !  may  all  the  —  " 

The  secretary,  who  was  sitting  at  the  table,  began  to 
look  again  in  the  glass. 

"  Serves  you  right,"  said  he ;  "  why  don't  you  look  out  ? 
It  will  be  the  same  story  with  this  drinking.  One  mangy 
sheep  will  lead  a  whole  flock  astray,  and  he  attracts 
people  to  the  dram-shop." 

"  Of  course,  that  is  well  known ;  but  as  to  drinking, 
there  is  need  of  drink  when  people  have  worked  in  the 
field." 

"  But  I  tell  you  only  this,  get  rid  of  Repa,  and  all  will 
be  well." 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.  297 

"What!  shall  I  take  his  head  off?" 

"  You  will  not  take  his  head  off ;  but  now  that  they 
are  making  the  army  lists,  inscribe  him  in  the  list ;  let 
him  draw  the  lot,  and  that  is  enough." 

"  But  he  is  married  and  has  a  son  a  year  old." 

"  Who  among  the  higher  authorities  knows  that  ?  He 
will  not  go  to  make  a  complaint,  and  if  he  goes,  they 
will  not  listen  to  him.  Jn  time  of  recruiting  no  one 
has  leisure." 

"  Oh,  lord  writer,  it  must  be  that  for  you  the  question 
is  not  of  drinking,  but  of  Repa's  wife  ;  and  that  is  nothing 
but  a  sin  against  God." 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?  This  is  what  you  will  do ;  you 
will  look  out  for  your  son,  who  is  nineteen  years  of  age, 
and  he  as  well  as  others  must  draw." 

"  I  know  that ;  but  I  won't  give  him.  If  there  is  no 
other  way,  I  will  ransom  him." 

"  Oh  !  if  you  are  such  a  rich  man  —  " 

"  The  Lord  God  has  a  little  copper  money  in  my 
hands ;  not  much ;  but  perhaps  it  will  hold  out." 

"  You  will  pay  eight  hundred  rubles  of  copper 
money  ? " 

"  And  if  I  say  that  I  will  pay,  I  will  pay  even  in 
copper,  and  afterward,  if  the  Lord  God  permits  me  to 
remain  mayor,  with  His  supreme  assistance,  the  money 
may  come  back  to  me  in  a  couple  of  years." 

"  It  will  come  back,  or  it  will  not  come  back.  I  need 
some  too  ;  I  will  not  give  you  all.  A  man  with  education 
has  always  more  outgoes  than  one  who  is  ignorant ;  if  we 
should  enroll  Repa  in  place  of  your  son,  it  would  be  a 
sparing  for  you  ;  you  cannot  find  eight  hundred  rubles 
on  the  road." 

The  hope  of  saving  such  a  large  sum  began  to  tickle 
Barak,  and  smile  at  him  agreeably. 


298  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

"  Ba  ! "  said  he  at  last,  "  that  is  always  a  very  danger- 
ous thing." 

"  Well,  it  is  not  on  your  head." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  am  afraid  of,  that  the  thing  will 
be  done  by  your  head,  and  ground  out  on  mine." 
"  As  you  like  ;  then  pay  eight  hundred  rubles." 
"  I  do  not  say  that  I  am  not  sorry  for  the  money." 
"  But  since  you  think  that  it  will  come  back  to  you, 
why  are  you  sorry  ?     Do  not  count  too   much  on  your 
mayorship,  though ;  they  don't  know  everything  about 
you  yet ;  if  they  only  knew  what  I  know  - 
"  You  take  more  chancery  money  than  I  do." 
"  I  am  not  speaking  of  the  chancery  now,  but  of  times 
a  little  earlier." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  afraid  !  I  did  \vhat  was  commanded." 
"  Well,  you  will  explain  that  somewhere  else." 
After  he  had  said  this,  the  secretary  took  his  cap  and 
went  out  of  the  chancery.  The  sun  was  very  low ; 
people  were  returning  from  the  field.  First,  the  secre- 
tary met  five  mowers  with  scythes  on  their  shoulders ; 
they  bowed  to  him,  saying,  "  Praised."  The  lord  secre- 
tary nodded  to  them  with  his  pomaded  head,  but  did  not 
answer,  "  For  the  ages,"  since  he  judged  that  it  did  not 
become  a  man  with  education  to  do  so.  That  Pan  Zolzik 
had  education,  all  knew ;  and  only  those  might  doubt 
who  were  either  malicious,  or  in  general  of  evil  thought, — 
people  to  whom  every  personality  raising  its  head  above 
the  common  level  was  as  salt  in  the  eye,  and  would  not 
let  them  sleep. 

If  we  had  proper  biographies  of  all  our  celebrated 
people,  we  should  read  in  the  life  of  this  uncommon  man, 
that  he  gained  his  first  knowledge  at  Oslovitsi,  the  capital 
city  of  the  district  of  Oslovitski,  in  which  district  Barania- 
Glova  also  is  situated.  In  the  seventeenth  year  of  his 


CHARCOAL    SKETCHES.  299 

life,  this  young  Zolzik  had  advanced  as  far  as  the  second 
class ;  and  would  have  gone  higher  as  promptly,  had  it 
not  been  that,  on  a  sudden,  stormy  times  came,  which 
interrupted  forever  his  career  in  the  exact  sciences. 
Carried  away  by  the  usual  enthusiasm  of  youth,  Pan 
Zolzik,  who  moreover  had  been  persecuted  still  earlier  by 
unjust  professors,  stood  at  the  head  of  the  more  actively 
watchful  of  his  colleagues,  made  cats'  music  for  his  per- 
secutors, tore  his  books,  broke  his  rule  and  pens,  and, 
rejecting  Minerva,  entered  on  a  new  career.  In  this  new 
career  he  arrived  at  the  office  of  communal  secretary ; 
and  as  we  have  heard  already,  was  even  dreaming  of  be- 
coming sub-inspector.  He  did  not  succeed  badly  as  secre- 
tary. Accurate  knowledge  rouses  respect  at  all  times ; 
and  since,  as  I  have  remarked,  my  sympathetic  hero  knew 
something  about  almost  every  inhabitant  in  the  district, 
all  felt  for  him  respect,  mingled  with  a  certain  caution, 
lest  they  might  in  any  way  offend  an  individuality  so  un- 
common. Even  persons  of  "  intelligence  "  bowed  to  him, 
and  peasants  took  off  their  caps  at  a  distance,  saying, 
"  Praised." 

Here  I  see,  however,  that  I  must  explain  more  clearly 
why  Pan  Zolzik  did  not  answer  to  the  "  Praised,"  with 
the  usual  "  For  the  ages  of  ages."  I  have  mentioned  al- 
ready that  he  considered  that  as  unbecoming  in  a  man  of 
education  ;  but  there  were  other  reasons  also.  Faculties 
which  are  thoroughly  self-acting  are  generally  bold  and 
radical.  Pan  Zolzik  had  arrived  at  the  conviction  that 
"  the  soul  is  a  breath ;  and  that  is  the  end  of  the  ques- 
tion." Moreover,  the  secretary  was  reading  "  Isabella  of 
Spain,  or  the  Secrets  of  the  Court  of  Madrid,"  just  then 
in  course  of  publication  by  the  Warsaw  publishing  house 
of  Pan  Breslauer.  This  novel,  remarkable  in  every  regard, 
pleased  him  so  much  and  penetrated  him  so  deeply  that 


800  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

on  a  time  he  had  even  a  plan  to  leave  all  and  go  to  Spain. 
"  Marfori  succeeded,"  thought  he ;  "  why  should  not  I 
also  succeed  ? "  He  might  have  gone,  indeed,  for  he  was 
of  the  opinion  that  "  in  his  stupid  country  a  man  was 
merely  going  to  loss ; "  but  happily  he  was  detained  by 
circumstances  which  this  epopaea  will  mention  further  on. 

In  fact,  as  a  result  of  reading  that  "  Isabella  of  Spain," 
which  was  issued  periodically,  to  the  greater  glory  of  litera- 
ture, by  Pan  Breslauer,  Pan  Zolzik  looked  very  sceptically 
at  the  clergy,  and  therefore  at  everything  connected 
directly  or  indirectly  with  the  clergy.  This  was  the  rea- 
son why  he  did  not  give  the  mowers  the  usual  answer, 
"  For  the  ages  of  ages,"  but  went  on ;  he  went  on  and  on, 
till  he  met  girls  coming  home  from  the  harvest  field 
with  sickles  on  their  shoulders.  They  were  just  passing 
a  great  pool,  and  went,  one  after  another,  goose  fashion, 
raising  their  skirts  behind,  and  exposing  their  red  legs. 
Then  Pan  Zolzik  said,  — 

"How  are  ye,  titmice?"  And  he  stopped  on  the  very 
path ;  when  any  girl  passed,  he  caught  her  around  the 
waist,  kissed  her,  and  then  pushed  her  into  the  puddle. 
But  that  was  just  for  sport,  and  the  girls  cried,  "Oi! 
oi ! "  laughing  till  their  back  teeth  could  be  seen. 
Afterwards,  when  they  had  passed,  the  secretary  heard, 
not  without  pleasure,  how  they  said,  one  to  another, 
"  But  that  is  a  nice  cavalier ;  he  is  our  secretary  ! "  "  And 
he  is  as  blooming  as  an  apple ! "  The  third  one  said, 
"And  -his  head  has  the  smell  of  a  rose ;  so  that  when  he 
catches  you  around  the  waist  your  head  is  just  dizzy ! " 

The  secretary  went  forward,  full  of  pleasant  thoughts. 
But  farther  on,  near  a  cottage,  he  heard  a  conversation 
about  himself ;  and  he  halted  behind  the  fence.  Beyond 
the  fence  was  a  dense  cherry  orchard,  in  the  orchard 
bees,  and  not  far  from  the  beehives  two  women  were 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  301 

talking.  One  had  potatoes  in  her  apron,  and  was  peeling 
them  with  a  small  knife,  while  the  other  was  saying, — 

"  Oi !  my  Stahova,  I  am  so  afraid  that  they  will  take 
my  Frariek  and  make  a  soldier  of  him,  that  my  flesh 
creeps." 

"  You  must  go  to  the  secretary,"  answered  the  other. 
"  If  he  cannot  help  you,  no  one  can  help  you." 

"  And  what  can  I  take  him,  my  Stahova  ?  It  is  not 
possible  to  go  with  empty  hands  to  him.  The  mayor 
is  better;  you  can  take  him  white  crawfish,  or  butter, 
or  linen  under  your  arm,  or  a  hen  ;  he  will  take  anything 
without  grumbling.  But  the  secretary  won't  look.  Oh, 
he  is  terribly  proud !  For  him  you  must  just  open  your 
handkerchief,  and  out  with  a  ruble  ! ' 

"  Ye  '11  not  wait,"  muttered  the  secretary  to  himself, 
"  till  I  take  eggs  or  a  hen  from  you.  Am  I  some  kind  of 
a  bribe-snatcher  ?  But  go  with  your  hen  to  the  mayor." 

Thus  thinking,  he  pushed  apart  the  branches  of  the 
cherry-tree  and  was  going  to  call  to  the  women,  when  he 
heard  all  at  once  the  sound  of  a  brichka  behind  him. 
The  secretary  turned  and  looked.  In  the  brichka  was 
sitting  Pan  Victor,  a  young  student,  with  his  cap  on  the 
side  of  his  head,  and  a  cigarette  between  his  teeth ;  the 
brichka  was  driven  by  that  Franek  of  whom  the  women 
were  talking  a  moment  before. 

The  student  bent  over  the  side  of  the  brichka,  saw 
Pan  Zolzik,  waved  his  hand  to  him,  and  cried,  — 

"  How  art  thou,  Pan  Zolzik  ?  What  news  in  the  village  ? 
Dost  thou  always  pomade  thy  hair  two  inches  deep  ? " 

"  The  servant  of  my  lord  benefactor  ! "  said  Zolzik, 
bowing  low.  But  when  the  brichka  had  gone  a  short 
distance,  he  muttered,  — 

"May  thy  neck  break  before  the  end  of  the  jour- 
ney ! " 


302  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

The  secretary  could  not  endure  that  student.  He 
was  a  cousin  of  the  Skorabevskis,  and  came  to  visit 
them  every  summer.  Zolzik  not  only  could  not  endure 
the  young  man,  but  feared  him  like  fire,  for  he  was 
always  jesting ;  a  great  rogue,  he  made  a  fool  of  Zolzik 
as  if  purposely,  and  was  the  only  man  in  the  whole  place 
who  made  no  account  of  him.  Once  even  Pan  Victor 
had  happened  in  during  a  session  of  the  communal 
council,  and  told  Zolzik  explicitly  that  he  was  an  idiot, 
and  the  peasants  that  they  had  no  need  to  obey  him. 
Zolzik  would  have  been  glad  to  take  revenge  ;  but  —  what 
could  he  do  to  the  student  ?  As  to  others,  he  knew 
even  something  of  each  one,  but  of  Pan  Victor  he  knew 
nothing. 

The  arrival  of  that  student  was  not  to  his  liking; 
therefore  Pan  Zolzik  went  on  with  a  cloudy  brow,  and 
did  not  halt  till  he  came  to  a  cottage  standing  a  little 
way  in  from  the  road.  When  he  saw  it,  his  forehead 
grew  bright  again.  That  was  a  cottage  poorer,  perhaps, 
than  others,  but  it  had  a  neat  look.  The  space  in  front 
was  swept  clean,  and  sweet-flag  was  scattered  in  the  yard. 
Near  the  fence  lay  pieces  of  wood ;  in  one  of  them  was 
sticking  an  axe  with  its  handle  erect.  A  little  farther 
was  a  barn  with  open  doors ;  near  it  a  building  which 
was  both  a  shed  and  a  cowhouse ;  still  farther  was  a 
field  in  which  a  horse  was  nipping  grass,  and  moving 
about  with  fettered  feet.  Before  the  shed  was  a  large 

O 

manure  heap  on  which  two  pigs  were  lying.  Near  this 
ducks  were  walking  along.  Close  to  the  pieces  of  wood 
a  cock  was  scratching  the  ground  among  chips,  and  when- 
ever he  found  a  grain,  or  a  worm,  he  called  "  Koh  !  koh  ! 
koh  !  "  The  hens  flew  to  the  call,  in  hot  haste,  and  seized 
the  dainty,  pulling  it  from  one  another. 

By  the   door  of  the  cottage  a  woman  was  scutching 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  303 

hemp,  and  singing,  "  Oi  ta  dada  !  Oi  ta  dada  !  da-da-na  ! " 
Near  her  lay  a  dog  with  his  forelegs  stretched  out; 
he  was  snapping  at  flies  which  were  lighting  on  his 
cut  ear. 

The  woman  was  young,  perhaps  twenty,  and  remark- 
ably handsome. 

She  wore  a  white  shirt  drawn  together  with  red  strings, 
and  on  her  head  was  the  ordinary  peasant  cap.  She 
was  as  healthy  as  a  mushroom;  she  was  broad  in  the 
shoulders  and  hips,  slender  in  the  waist,  active,  —  in  one 
word,  a  deer.  She  had  delicate  features,  a  head  not 
large,  and  a  complexion  perhaps  even  pale,  but  some- 
what gilded  by  sun-rays,  very  dark  eyes,  brows  as  if 
painted,  a  small  delicate  nose,  and  lips  like  cherries. 
Her  fine  dark  hair  was  dropping  out  from  under 
the  cap. 

When  the  secretary  approached,  the  dog  lying  near 
the  scutching-bench  rose,  thrust  his  tail  under  him,  and 
began  to  growl,  showing  his  teeth  from  moment  to  mo- 
ment as  if  he  were  laughing. 

"  Kruchek ! "  cried  the  woman,  with  a  thin,  resonant 
voice,  "  wilt  thou  lie  down  !  May  the  worms  bite  thee ! " 

"  Good-evening,"  began  Zolzik. 

"  Good-evening,  lord  secretary  ! "  answered  the  woman, 
not  ceasing  to  work. 

"  Is  yours  at  home  ? " 

"He  is  at  work  in  the  woods." 

"  But  that  is  too  bad ;  I  have  an  affair  with  him  from 
the  commune." 

An  affair  with  the  commune  for  common  people  always 
means  something  evil.  The  woman  stopped  working, 
looked  with  alarm  at  the  secretary,  and  inquired  with 
concern, — 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 


S04  CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

Zolzik  meanwhile  passed  through  the  gateway  and 
stood  near  her. 

"  Let  us  have  a  kiss,  then  I  '11  tell  you." 

"  Keep  away  ! "  said  the  woman. 

But  the  secretary  had  succeeded  already  in  putting 
his  arm  around  her  waist,  and  drawing  her  toward  him. 

"  I  will  scream ! "  said  she,  pulling  away  vigorously. 

"  My  pretty  one,  —  Marysia  !  " 

"  Oh,  this  is  just  an  offence  against  God  !     Oh  ! " 

She  struggled  still  more  vigorously;  but  Pan  Zolzik 
was  so  strong  that  he  did  not  let  her  go. 

At  this  moment  Kruchek  came  to  her  aid.  He  raised 
the  hair  on  his  back,  and  with  furious  barking  sprang 
at  the  secretary ;  and,  since  the  secretary  was  dressed  in 
a  short  coat,  Kruchek  seized  his  nankeen  trousers,  went 
through  the  nankeen,  caught  the  skin,  went  through  the 
skin,  and  when  he  felt  fulness  in  his  mouth,  he  began  to 
shake  his  head  madly  and  tug. 

"  Jesus  !  Mary  !  "  cried  the  lord  secretary,  forgetting 
that  he  belonged  to  the  esprits  forts. 

But  Kruchek  did  not  let  go  his  hold  till  the  secretary 
seized  a  billet  of  wood  and  pounded  him  uncounted  times 
on  the  back  with  it ;  when  Kruchek  got  a  blow  on  his 
spine,  he  sprang  away  whining  piteously.  But  after  a 
while  he  jumped  at  the  man  again. 

"  Take  off  this  dog !  take  off  this  devil ! "  cried  the 
secretary,  brandishing  the  stick  with  desperation. 

The  woman  cried  to  the  dog,  and  sent  him  outside  the 
gate.  Then  she  and  the  secretary  gazed  at  each  other  in 
silence. 

"  Oh,  my  misfortune !  Why  did  you  look  at  me  ? " 
asked  Marysia,  at  length,  frightened  by  the  bloody  turn  of 
the  affair. 

"  Vengeance  on  you  !  "  shouted  the  secretary.    "  Ven- 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.  305 

geance  on  you  !  Wait !  Repa  will  be  a  soldier.  I  wanted 
to  save  him.  But  now  —  you  will  come  yourself  to  me ! 
Vengeance  on  you  ! " 

The  poor  woman  grew  as  pale  as  if  some  one  had 
struck  her  on  the  head  with  a  hatchet ;  she  spread  out  her 
hands,  opened  her  mouth,  as  if  she  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing ;  but  meanwhile  the  secretary  raised  his  cap  with 
green  binding  from  the  ground,  and  went  away  quickly, 
brandishing  the  stick  in  one  hand,  and  holding  his  badly 
torn  trousers  with  the  other. 


CHAPTER  II. 

SOME   OTHER   PERSONS   AND   DISAGREEABLE    VISIONS. 

AN  hour  later,  perhaps,  Repa  came  home  from  the 
woods  with  the  carpenter  Lukash,  on  the  landlord's 
wagon.  Repa  was  a  burly  fellow,  as  tall  as  a  poplar, 
strong,  just  hewn  out  with  an  axe.  He  went  to  the 
woods  every  day,  for  the  landlord  had  sold  to  Jews  all 
the  forest  which  was  free  of  peasant  privileges.  Repa  re- 
ceived good  wages,  for  he  was  a  good  man  to  work.  When 
he  spat  on  his  palm,  seized  the  axe,  gave  a  blow  with  a 
grunt  and  struck,  the  pine-tree  groaned,  and  chips  flew 
from  it  half  an  ell  long.  In  loading  timber  onto  wagons 
he  was  also  the  first  man. 

The  Jews,  who  went  through  the  woods  with  measures 
in  their  hands  and  looked  at  the  tops  of  the  pines,  as  if 
hunting  for  crows'  nests,  were  amazed  at  his  strength. 
Droysla,  a  rich  merchant  from  Oslovitsi,  said  to  him,  — 

"  Well,  Repa  !  devil  take  thee  !  Here  are  six  groshes 
for  vodka.  No !  here,  wait ;  here  are  five  groshes  for 
vodka ! " 

20 


306  CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

But  Repa  did  not  care,  —  he  just  wielded  his  axe  till 
the  woods  thundered;  sometimes  for  amusement  he  let 
his  voice  out  through  the  forest,  — 

"  Hop  !  Hop !  " 

His  voice  flew  among  the  trees,  and  came  back  as  an 
echo.  And  again,  nothing  was  heard  but  the  thunder  of 
Repa's  axe ;  and  sometimes  the  pines  too  began  to  talk 
among  their  branches  with  a  sound  as  is  usual  in  a 
forest. 

At  times,  also,  the  wood-cutters  sang ;  and  at  singing, 
Repa  too  was  the  first  man.  One  should  have  heard  how 
he  thundered  forth  with  the  wood-cutters  a  song  which 
he  had  taught  them  himself ,  — 

"  Something  shouted  in  the  woods, 

B-u-u-u-u ! 
And  struck  terribly, 

B-u-u-u-u ! 
That 's  a  mosquito  that  fell  from  the  oak, 

B-u-u-u-u  1 
And  he  broke  a  bone  in  his  shoulder, 

B-u-u-u-u  1 
That  was  an  honest  mosquito, 

B-u-u-u-u ! 
He  is  flying  barely  alive, 

B-u-u-u-u ! 
And  they  asked  the  mosquito, 

B-u-u-u-u ! 
Oi,  is  a  doctor  not  needed  ? 

B-u  u-u  I 
Or  any  druggist  ? 

B-u-u-u ! 
Only  a  spade  and  a  pickaxe, 

B-u-u-u-u  ! " 

In  the  dramshop,  too,  Repa  was  first  in  everything :  he 
loved  sivuha ;  and  he  was  quick  at  fighting  when  he  had 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  307 

drunk  anything.  Once  he  made  such  a  hole  in  the  head 
of  the  house-servant,  Damaz,  that  Yozvova,  the  house- 
keeper, swore  that  his  soul  could  be  seen  through  it. 
Another  time,  but  that  was  when  he  was  barely  seven- 
teen years  of  age,  he  fought  in  the  dramshop  with  soldiers 
on  furlough.  Pan  Skorabevski,  who  was  mayor  at  the 
time,  took  him  to  the  chancery,  and  gave  him  a  couple  of 
blows  on  the  head ;  but  for  appearance'  sake  only,  then, 
being  satisfied,  he  inquired,  — 

"  Eepa,  have  the  fear  of  God  !  How  didst  thou  manage 
them  ?  There  were  seven  against  thee." 

"  Well,  serene  heir,"  answered  Kepa,  "  their  legs  were 
worn  out  with  marching,  and  the  moment  I  touched  one 
he  fell  to  the  floor." 

Pan  Skorabevski  quashed  the  affair.  For  a  long  time 
he  had  been  very  friendly  to  Eepa.  The  peasant  women 
even  whispered  into  one  another's  ears  that  Repa  was  his 
son. 

"That  can  be  seen  at  once,"  said  they;  "he  has  the 
courage  of  a  noble,  the  dog  blood ! " 

But  this  was  not  true ;  though  everybody  knew  Repa's 
mother,  no  one  knew  his  father.  Repa  himself  paid  rent 
for  a  cottage  and  three  morgs  of  land,  which  became  his 
own  afterward.  He  cultivated  his  land  ;  and,  being  a  good 
worker,  his  affairs  went  on  well.  He  married,  and  met 
such  a  wife  that  a  better  could  not  be  found  with  a 
candle ;  and  surely  he  would  have  been  prosperous,  had 
it  not  been  that  he  liked  vodka  a  little  too  well. 

But  what  could  be  done  ?  If  any  one  mentioned  the 
matter,  he  answered  right  off,  — 

"I  drink  from  rny  own  money,  and  what's  that  to 
you  ? " 

He  feared  no  one  in  the  village ;  before  the  secretary 
alone  had  he  manners.  When  he  saw  from  a  distance 


308  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

the  green  cap,  the  stuck-up  nose  and  goatee  walking  in 
high  boots  along  the  road  slowly,  he  caught  at  his  cap. 
The  secretary  knew  also  some  things  against  Repa.  Dur- 
ing the  insurrection  certain  papers  were  given  Repa  to 
carry,  and  he  carried  them. 

When  he  came  that  day  from  the  woods  to  his  cot- 
tage, Marysia  ran  to  him  with  great  crying,  and  began 
to  call  out,  — 

"  Oh,  poor  man,  my  eyes  will  not  look  long  on  thee  ; 
oh,  I  shall  not  weave  clothes  for  thee,  nor  cook  food  long 
for  thee !  Thou  wilt  go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  poor 
unfortunate ! " 

Repa  was  astonished. 

"  Hast  eaten  madwort,  woman,  or  has  some  beast  bitten 
thee  ? " 

"  I  have  n't  eaten  madwort,  and  no  beast  has  bitten  me ; 
but  the  secretary  was  here,  and  he  said  that  there  was 
no  way  for  thee  to  escape  from  the  army.  Oi !  thou  wilt 
go,  thou  wilt  go  to  the  edge  of  the  world ! " 

Then  he  began  to  question  her :  how,  what  ?  —  and  she 
told  him  everything,  only  she  concealed  the  tricks  of 
Pan  Zolzik  ;  for  she  was  afraid  that  Repa  would  say  some- 
thing foolish  to  the  secretary,  or,  which  God  keep  away  ! 
he  would  attack  him,  and  harm  himself  in  that  way. 

"  Thou  foolish  woman  ! "  said  Repa,  at  last,  "  why  art 
thou  crying  ?  They  will  not  take  me  to  the  army,  for 
I  am  beyond  the  years ;  besides,  I  have  a  house,  I  have 
land,  I  have  thee,  stupid  woman,  and  I  have  that  tor- 
mented lobster  there  too." 

While  saying  that  he  pointed  to  the  cradle  where  the 
"  tormented  lobster,"  a  sturdy  boy  a  year  old,  was  kicking 
and  screaming  to  make  a  man's  ears  split. 

The  woman  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron,  and 
said,  — 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  309 

"  What  does  this  all  mean,  then  ?  Or  does  he  know  of 
the  papers  which  thou  wert  carrying  from  forest  to 
forest  ? " 

Repa  began  now  to  scratch  his  head.  "He  does  in- 
deed ! "  After  a  while  he  added,  "  I  will  go  and  talk  with 
him.  Maybe  it  is  nothing  terrible." 

"  Go,  go ! "  said  Marysia,  "  and  take  a  ruble  with  thee. 
Don't  go  near  him  without  a  ruble." 

Repa  took  a  ruble  out  of  the  box,  and  went  to  the 
secretary. 

The  secretary  was  a  single  man,  so  he  had  no  separate 
housekeeping,  but  lived  in  the  house  of  four  tenements 
standing  at  the  dam,  —  the  so-called  "brick  house." 
There  he  had  two  rooms,  with  a  separate  entrance.  In 
the  first  room  there  was  nothing  but  some  straw  and  a  pair 
of  gaiters ;  the  second  was  both  a  reception  and  a  sleep- 
ing room.  There  was  a  bed  in  it,  almost  never  made 
up;  on  the  bed  two  pillows  without  cases,  from  these 
pillows  feathers  were  dropping  continually ;  near  by 
was  a  table,  on  it  an  inkstand,  pens,  chancery  books, 
a  few  numbers  of  "  Isabella  of  Spain,"  published  by  Pan 
Breslauer,  two  dirty  collars  of  English  make,  a  bottle 
of  pomade,  paper  for  cigarettes,  and  finally  a  candle 
in  a  tin  candlestick,  with  a  reddish  wick  and  a  fly 
drowned  in  the  tallow  close  to  the  wick. 

By  the  window  hung  a  large  looking-glass  ;  opposite  the 
window  stood  a  bureau  on  which  were  the  very  exquisite 
toilet  articles  of  the  secretary,  —  jackets,  vests  of  fabu- 
lous colors,  cravats,  gloves,  patent-leather  shoes,  and  even 
a  cylinder  hat  which  the  lord  secretary  wore  whenever 
he  had  to  visit  the  district  capital  of  Oslovitsi. 

Besides  this,  at  the  moment  of  which  we  are  writing, 
in  an  armchair  near  the  bed  rested  the  nankeen  trousers 
of  the  lord  secretary;  the  lord  secretary  himself  was 


310  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

lying  on  the  bed  and  reading  a  number  of  "  Isabella  of 
Spain,"  published  by  Pan  Breslauer. 

His  position,  not  the  position  of  Pan  Breslauer,  but 
the  secretary,  was  dreadful,  so  dreadful,  indeed,  that  one 
would  need  the  style  of  Victor  Hugo  to  describe  it. 

First  of  all,  he  feels  a  raging  pain  in  his  wound.  That 
reading  of  "  Isabella,"  which  for  him  had  been  always 
the  dearest  pleasure  and  recreation,  now  increases,  not 
only  the  pain,  but  the  bitterness  which  torments  him 
after  that  adventure  with  Kruchek.  He  has  a  slight 
fever,  and  is  barely  able  to  collect  his  thoughts.  At 
times  terrible  visions  come  to  him.  He  has  just  read 
how  young  Serrano  arrived  at  the  palace  of  the  Escurial 
covered  with  wounds  after  a  brilliant  victory  over  the 
Carlists. 

The  youthful  Isabella,  pale  with  emotion,  receives  him. 
The  muslin  rises  in  waves  above  her  bosom. 

"  General,  thou  art  wounded  ! "  says  she  with  trembling 
voice  to  Serrano. 

Here  it  seems  to  the  unhappy  Zolzik  that  he  is  really 
Serrano. 

"  Oi !  oi !  I  am  wounded ! "  repeated  he,  in  a  stifled  voice. 
"  Oh,  queen,  pardon  !  But  may  the  most  serene  —  " 

"  Eest,  general !  Be  seated.  Be  seated.  Eelate  thy 
heroic  deeds  to  me." 

"  Eelate  them  I  can,  but  as  to  sitting  I  cannot  in  any 
way,"  cries  Serrano,  in  desperation.  "  Oi !  —  Pardon,  O 
queen  !  That  cursed  Kruchek !  I  wish  to  say  Don  Jose* 
—  Ai,  ai !  ai ! " 

Here  pain  drives  away  dreaming.  Serrano  looks 
around ;  the  candle  is  burning  on  the  table  and  splutter- 
ing, for  just  then  it  begins  to  burn  the  fly  which  had 
dropped  into  the  tallow ;  other  flies  are  crawling  along  the 
wall.  Oh !  this  is  the  house  of  four  tenements,  not  the 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  311 

palace  of  the  Escurial !  There  is  no  Queen  Isabella  here. 
Pan  Zolzik  recovers  presence  of  mind.  He  rises  in  the 
bed,  moistens  a  cloth  in  a  dish  of  water  standing  near 
the  bed,  and  changes  the  application  on  his  wound. 

Then  he  turns  to  the  wall,  dozes,  or  rather  dreams 
half  asleep,  half  awake,  and  is  going  again  evidently 
by  extra  post  to  the  Escurial. 

"  Dear  Serrano  !  my  love !  I  will  dress  thy  wounds 
myself,"  whispers  Queen  Isabella. 

Then  the  hair  stands  on  Serrano's  head.  He  feels  the 
whole  horror  of  his  position.  How  is  he  to  refuse 
obedience  to  the  queen,  and  how  is  he  in  this  case  to 
yield  himself  to  the  dressing  of  his  wound  ?  Cold  sweat 
is  coining  out  on  his  forehead,  when  suddenly  —  the 
queen  vanishes,  the  door  opens  with  a  rattle,  and  before 
him  stands  neither  more  nor  less  than  Don  Jose, 
Serrano's  sworn  enemy. 

"  What  dost  thou  wish  ?  Who  art  thou  ? "  shouts 
Serrano. 

"  I  am  Kepa  ! "  answers  Don  Jose",  gloomily. 

Zolzik  wakes  a  second  time  ;  the  Escurial  becomes  the 
brick  house  again,  the  candle  is  burning,  the  fly  is 
crackling  in  the  wick,  and  blue  drops  are  scattered ; 
in  the  door  stands  Eepa,  and  behind  him  —  but  the  pen 
drops  from  my  hand  —  through  the  half-open  door  are 
thrust  in  the  head  and  shoulders  of  Kruchek.  The 
monster  holds  his  eyes  fixed  on  Pan  Zolzik,  and  seems 
to  laugh. 

Cold  sweat  in  very  truth  is  coming  out  on  the  temples 
of  Pan  Zolzik,  and  through  his  head  flies  the  thought, 
"  Eepa  has  come  to  break  my  bones,  and  Kruchek  to 
help  him." 

"  What  do  ye  both  want  here  ? "  cries  he,  in  a  terrified 
voice. 


312  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

Repa  puts  the  ruble  011  the  table,  and  answers,  — 

"  Great,  mighty  lord  secretary !  I  have  come  about 
the  conscription." 

"  Out !  out !  out ! "  cries  Zolzik,  into  whom  courage 
enters  in  one  instant.  And  falling  into  a  rage  he  rises 
to  spring  at  Kepa ;  but  at  that  moment  his  wound,  re- 
ceived in  the  Carlist  war,  pains  him  so  acutely  that  he 
drops  again  on  the  pillow,  giving  forth  smothered  groans. 

"Oi!    ye!" 


CHAPTER  III. 

MEDITATIONS   AND    EUKEKA. 

THE  wound  became  inflamed. 
I  see  how  my  fair  readers  will  begin  to  drop  tears 
over  my  hero,  and  hence,  before  any  of  them  faint,  I  will 
hasten  to  add,  that  my  hero  did  not  die  of  the  wound. 
Long  life  was  predestined  to  him.  For  that  matter,  if 
he  had  died,  I  should  have  broken  my  pen  and  stopped 
this  story ;  but  as  he  did  not  die  I  continue. 

In  truth,  then,  the  wound  grew  inflamed,  but  unex- 
pectedly it  turned  to  profit  for  the  lord  secretary  of 
the  chancery  of  Barania-Glova,  and  turned  in  this  very 
simple  way :  The  wound  drew  the  humors  from  Pan 
Zolzik's  head,  therefore  he  began  to  think  more  clearly, 
and  saw  at  once  that,  up  to  that  time,  he  had  been  com- 
mitting pure  folly.  For  just  listen  :  The  secretary  had  a 
design,  as  they  say  in  Warsaw,  on  Repa's  wife,  and  that 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  for  she  was  a  woman  whose 
equal  was  not  to  be  found  in  the  whole  district  of  Oslo- 
vitsi,  therefore  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  Repa.  If  once 
they  took  Repa  into  the  army,  Pan  Zolzik  might  say  to 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  313 

himself,  "  Now  frolic,  my  soul,  with  thy  coat  off."  But 
it  was  not  so  easy  to  substitute  Eepa  for  the  mayor's  son. 
A  secretary  is  a  power.  Zolzik  was  a  power  among  sec- 
retaries ;  there  was  this  misfortune,  however,  that  he  was 
not  the  last  resort  in  recruiting.  In  this  case,  one  had  to 
do  with  the  district  police,  with  the  military  com- 
missioner, with  the  chief  of  the  district,  with  the  com- 
mander of  the  guard.  Not  all  at  least  of  these  were 
interested  in  presenting  the  army  and  the  State  with  Eepa 
instead  of  Burak.  "To  inscribe  him  in  the  recruiting 
list,  and  what  further  ? "  asked  my  sympathetic  hero. 
"They  will  verify  the  list,  and  it  must  be  compared  with 
the  parish  record ;  and  since  it  will  be  hard  to  muzzle 
Eepa's  mouth,  they  will  give  a  reprimand,  and  perhaps 
throw  the  secretary  out  of  his  office,  and  thus  finish  the 
matter." 

The  greatest  men  have  committed  follies  under  the  in- 
fluence of  passion,  but  just  in  this  is  their  greatness,  that 
they  open  their  eyes  in  proper  season.  Zolzik  said  to 
himself  that  in  promising  Burak  to  inscribe  Eepa  in  the 
list  of  recruits  he  had  committed  his  first  stupidity ;  in 
going  to  Eepa's  wife  and  attacking  her  at  the  hemp,  he 
had  committed  the  second ;  when  he  frightened  her  and 
her  husband  with  the  enrolment,  he  committed  the  third 
stupidity.  Oh,  lofty  moment !  in  which  a  man  truly 
great  says  to  himself,  "  I  am  an  ass ! "  thou  didst  come 
to  Barania-Glova,  thou  didst  descend,  as  if  on  wings,  from 
that  region  where  the  lofty  rests  on  the  sublime,  for 
Zolzik  said  to  himself  plainly,  "  I  am  an  ass ! " 

But  was  he  to  reject  the  plan  now,  when  he  had  shed 
his  own  blood  for  it  (in  his  enthusiasm  he  had  said,  the 
blood  of  his  own  breast)?  Was  he  to  reject  the  plan  when 
he  had  sanctified  it  by  a  new  pair  of  trousers,  for  which 
he  had  not  paid  Srul,  the  tailor,  and  a  pair  of  nankeens, 


314  CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

he  did  not  know  himself  whether  he  had  worn  them 
twice  ?  —  No,  and  never !  On  the  contrary  now,  when 
to  his  projects  against  Eepa's  wife  was  added  a  desire 
for  vengeance  against  both,  and  Kruchek  with  them, 
Zolzik  swore  to  himself  that  he  would  be  a  fool  unless  he 
poured  tallow  into  Repa's  skin. 

He  meditated  over  methods  the  first  day,  while  chang- 
ing poultices  ;  he  meditated  the  second  day,  while  changing 
poultices ;  he  meditated  the  third  day,  while  changing 
poultices ;  and  do  you  know  what  he  thought  out  ?  Well, 
he  did  n't  think  out  anything  ! 

On  the  fourth  day,  the  guard  brought  him  diachylum 
from  the  apothecary  in  Oslovitsi ;  Zolzik  spread  it  on  a 
.cloth,  applied  it,  and  how  wonderful  were  the  effects  of 
this  medicament !  Almost  simultaneously  he  cried  out, 
"  I  have  found  it ! "  In  fact,  he  had  found  something. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHICH   MAY    BE   ENTITLED  :    THE  BEAST   IN   THE    SNARE. 

A  FEW  days  later,  I  do  not  know  well  whether  five  or 
six,  in  a  private  room  of  the  public-house  in  Bara- 
nia-Glova  sat  Burak  the  mayor,  the  councilman  Gomula, 
and  young  Repa.  The  mayor  took  his  glass,  — 

"  You  might  stop  quarrelling,  when  there  is  nothing  to 
quarrel  about." 

"  But  I  say  that  the  Frenchman  will  not  give  up  to  the 
Prussian,"  replied  Gomula,  striking  the  table  with  his  fist. 

"The  Prussian  is  cunning,  the  dog  blood!"  answered 
Repa. 

"  What  good  is  it  that  he  is  cunning  ?  The  Turk  will 
help  the  Frenchman,  and  the  Turk  is  the  strongest." 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  315 

"  What  do  ye  know !  The  strongest  is  Harubanda 
[Garibalda]." 

"  You  must  have  got  out  of  bed  shoulders  first.  But 
where  did  you  pull  out  Harubanda  ?  " 

"  What  need  had  I  to  pull  him  out  ?  Have  n't  people  said 
that  he  sailed  down  the  Vistula  in  boats  with  a  great 
army  ?  But  the  beer  in  Warsaw  did  n't  please  him,  for 
generally  it  is  better  at  home,  so  he  went  back." 

"  Don't  lie  for  nothing.     Every  Schwab  1  is  a  Jew. 

"  But  Harubanda  is  no  Schwab." 

"  What  is  he  ? " 

"  Well  what  ?  He  must  be  Caesar  and  that 's  the  end  of 
it!" 

"  You  are  terribly  wise  !  " 

"  You  are  not  wiser." 

"  But  if  you  are  so  wise,  then  tell  what  was  the  sur- 
name of  our  first  father  ? " 

"  How  ?     Yadam,  of  course." 

"  That  is  a  Christian  name ;  but  his  surname  ? " 

"  Do  I  know  ?  " 

"  See  there  !     But  I  do.     His  surname  was  Skrushyla." 

"  You  must  have  the  pip." 

"  If  you  don't  believe,  then  listen  :  — 

"  '  Gwiazdo  morza,  ktdras  Pana 
Mlfckiem  swojem  wykarmita 
Tys  smierci  szczep,  ktdry  wszczepil 
Pierwszy  rodzie,  skruszyla.'"2 

1  A  Suabian,  a  German. 

2  The  translation  of  those  four  lines  is  :  — 

Star  of  the  sea  who  nourished 

The  Lord  with  thy  milk, 

The  seed  of  death  engrafted  by  our  first  father, 

Thou  didst  crush. 

The  last  line  in  the  Polish  if  taken  alone  would  mean,  our  first  father, 
Skrushyla,  and  the  wise  Gomula  takes  it  alone.  Taken  in  connection  with 
its  pronoun  and  ending  the  compound  Tys,  the  first  word  in  the  third  line, 
it  means  :  Thou  hast  crushed. 


316  CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

"  Well,  and  is  n't  it  Skrushyla  ?" 

"  You  are  right  this  time." 

"  You  had  better  take  another  drink,"  said  the  mayor. 

"  Your  healths,  gossips  !  " 

"  Your  health  ! " 

"  Haim  ! " 

"  Siulim  !" 

"  God  give  happiness  !  " 

All  three  drank  ;  but  since  that  was  at  the  time  of  the 
Franco-German  War,  Councilman  Gomula  returned  again 
to  politics. 

"  Well,  drink  again  ! "  said  Burak,  after  a  while. 

"  The  Lord  God  give  happiness  ! " 

"  The  Lord  God  reward ! " 

"  Well,  to  your  health  !  " 

They  drank  again,  and,  since  they  drank  arrack,  Repa 
struck  his  empty  glass  on  the  table,  and  said, — 

"  Ei !  that  was  good  !  good ! " 

"  Well,  have  another  ? "  asked  Burak. 

"  Pour  it  out ! " 

Repa  grew  still  redder ;  Burak  kept  filling  his  glass. 

"  But  you,"  said  he  at  last  to  Repa,  "  though  you  are 
able  to  throw  a  korzets  of  peas  on  your  shoulder  with 
one  hand,  would  be  afraid  to  go  to  the  war." 

"  Why  should  I  be  afraid  ?     If  to  fight,  then,  fight." 

"One  man  is  small,  but  very  brave;  another  is  strong, 
but  cowardly,"  said  Gomula. 

"  That  is  not  true ! "  answered  Repa.  "  I  am  not 
cowardly." 

"  Who  knows  what  you  are  ? " 

"  But  I  will  go,"  said  Repa,  showing  his  fist,  which  was 
as  big  as  a  loaf  of  bread.  "If  I  should  go  into  one  of 
you  with  this  fist,  you  would  fly  apart  like  an  old 
barrel." 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.  3l7 

"  But  I  might  not." 

"  Do  you  want  to  try  ? " 

"  Be  quiet ! "  interrupted  the  mayor.  "  Are  you  going 
to  fight  or  what  ?  Let  us  drink  again." 

They  drank  again ;  but  Burak  and  Gonmla  merely 
moistened  their  lips.  Eepa  emptied  a  whole  glass  o"f 
arrack,  so  that  his  eyes  were  white. 

"  Let  us  kiss  now,"  said  the  mayor. 

Repa  burst  into  tears  at  the  embraces  and  kisses,  which 
was  a  sign  that  he  was  well  drunk  ;  then  he  fell  to  com- 
plaining, lamenting  bitterly  over  the  blue  calf  which  had 
died  two  weeks  before  in  his  cowhouse  at  night. 

"  Oh,  what  a  calf  that  was  which  the  Lord  God  took 
from  me ! "  cried  he,  piteously. 

"  Well,  don't  mourn  over  the  calf  ! "  said  Burak.  "  A 
writing  has  come  to  the  secretary  from  the  government, 
that  the  landlord's  forests  will  go  to  the  cottagers." 

"  And  in  justice  ! "  answered  Repa.  "  Was  it  the  land- 
lord who  planted  the  forest  ? " 

Then  again  he  began  to  lament,  — 

"  Oi !  what  a  calf  that  was  !  When  he  bunted  the  cow 
with  his  head  while  sucking,  her  hind  part  flew  up  to 
the  crossbeam." 

"  The  secretary  said  —  " 

"  What  is  the  secretary  to  me  ? "  asked  Repa,  angrily. 
"  The  secretary  is  no  more  for  me,  — 

'"He  is  no  more  for  me 
Than  Ignatsi  — 

"  Let  us  drink  again  ! " 

They  drank  again.  Repa  grew  calm  somehow,  and  sat 
down  on  the  bench ;  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and 
on  the  threshold  appeared  the  green  cap,  the  upturned 
nose,  and  the  goatee  of  the  secretary. 


318  CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

Eepa,  who  had  his  cap  pushed  to  the  back  of  his  head, 
threw  it  at  once  on  the  floor,  stood  up  and  bellowed  out  : 

"Be  praised." 

"Is  the  mayor  here  ?"  asked  the  secretary. 

"  He  is  !  "  answered  three  voices. 

The  secretary  approached,  and  at  the  same  moment 
flew  up  Shmul,  the  shopkeeper,  with  a  glass  of  arrack. 
Zolzik  sniffed  it,  made  a  wry  face,  and  sat  down  at  the 
table. 

Silence  reigned  for  a  moment.     At  last  Gomula  began, 

"  Lord  secretary  ? " 

"  What  ? " 

"  Is  that  true  about  this  forest  ?  " 

"True.  But  you  must  write  a  petition  as  a  whole 
commune." 

"  I  will  not  subscribe,"  said  Eepa,  who  had  the  general 
peasant  aversion  to  subscribing  his  name. 

"  No  one  will  beg  of  thee.  If  thou  wilt  not  subscribe, 
thou  wilt  not  receive.  Thy  will." 

Kepa  fell  to  scratching  his  head ;  the  secretary,  turn- 
ing to  the  mayor  and  the  councilman,  said  in  an  official 
tone,  — 

"  It  is  true  about  the  forest ;  but  each  one  must  sur- 
round his  own  part  with  a  fence  to  avoid  disputes." 

•'  That 's  it ;  the  fence  will  cost  more  than  the  forest  is 
worth,"  put  in  Eepa. 

The  secretary  paid  no  attention  to  him. 

"  To  pay  for  the  fence,"  said  he  to  the  mayor  and  the 
councilman,  "  the  government  sends  money.  Every  one 
will  receive  profit  even,  for  there  will  be  fifty  rubles  to 
each  man." 

Eepa's  eyes  just  flashed,  though  he  was  drunk. 

"  If  that  is  so,  I  will  subscribe.  But  where  is  the 
money  ? " 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  319 

"  I  have  the  money,"  said  the  secretary.  "  And  here  is 
the  document." 

So  saying,  he  took  out  a  paper  folded  in  four,  and  read 
something  which  the  peasants  did  not  understand,  though 
they  were  greatly  delighted ;  but  if  Eepa  had  been  more 
sober,  he  would  have  seen  how  the  mayor  muttered  to 
the  councilman. 

Then,  0  wonder !  The  secretary,  taking  out  the  money, 
said, — 

"  Well,  who  will  write  first  ? " 

All  subscribed  in  turn  ;  when  Eepa  took  the  pen,  Zol- 
zik  took  away  the  document,  and  said, — 

"  Perhaps  thou  are  not  willing  ?  All  this  is  of  free 
will." 

"  Why  should  n't  I  be  willing  ? " 

"  Shmul ! "  called  the  secretary. 

Shmul  appeared  in  the  door.  "Well,  what  does  the 
lord  secretary  wish  ? " 

"  Come  here  as  a  witness  that  everything  is  of  free 
will."  Then,  turning  to  Repa,  he  said,  "Perhaps  thou 
art  not  willing  ? " 

But  Repa  had  subscribed  already,  and  fixed  on  the 
paper  a  jew1  no  worse  than  Shmul;  then  he  took  the 
money  from  Zolzik,  fifty  whole  rubles,  and,  putting  them 
away  in  his  bosom,  cried,  — 

"Now  give  us  some  more  arrack  !" 

Shmul  brought  it.  They  drank  once  and  a  second 
time ;  then  Eepa  planted  his  fists  on  his  knees  and  began 
to  doze.  He  nodded  once,  nodded  a  second  time ;  at  last 
he  dropped  from  the  bench,  muttering,  "  God  be  merciful 
to  me  a  sinner,"  and  fell  asleep. 

Repa's  wife  did  not  come  for  him ;  she  knew  that  if  he 
were  drunk  he  would  abuse  her,  perhaps.  He  used  to  do 

1  A  great  iiik  blot. 


3L>0  CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

so.  The  next  day  he  would  beg  her  pardon,  and  kiss  her 
hands.  When  he  was  sober,  he  never  said  an  evil  word 
to  the  woman ;  but  sometimes  he  attacked  her  when  he 
was  drunk. 

So  Kepa  slept  all  night  in  the  public  house.  Next 
morning  he  woke  at  sunrise.  He  looked,  stared,  saw 
that  it  was  not  his  cottage,  but  the  dram-shop,  and  not 
the  room  in  which  they  were  sitting  the  evening  before, 
but  the  general  room,  where  the  counter  was. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost ! " 

He  looked  still  more  carefully ;  the  sun  was  rising  and 
shining  in  through  the  colored  window-panes,  and  at  the 
window  was  Shmul,  dressed  in  a  shroud  with  a  head- 
band and  plate  on  his  forehead;  he  was  standing,  nodding 
and  praying  aloud. 

"  Shmul,  dog  faith  ! "  cried  Eepa. 

But  Shmul  made  no  answer.  He  swayed  backward 
and  forward,  prayed  on. 

Then  Repa  began  to  feel  of  himself,  as  every  peasant 
does  who  has  slept  a  night  in  a  drinking-house.  He  felt 
the  money. 

"  Jesus,  Mary  !  but  what  is  this  ? " 

Meanwhile,  Shmul  had  finished  praying;  he  removed 
the  shroud  and  cap,  put  them  away  in  the  room,  then 
returned  with  slow  step,  important  and  calm. 

"  Shmul ! " 

"Well,  what  dost  thou  want?" 

"  What  money  is  this  that  I  have  here  ? " 

"  Knowest  not,  stupid  fellow  ?  Thou  didst  agree  last 
night  with  the  mayor  to  take  the  place  of  his  son ;  thou 
didst  take  the  money  and  sign  an  agreement." 

Repa  became  as  pale  as  a  white  wall ;  then  he  threw 
his  cap  on  the  floor,  dropped  onto  it,  and  roared  till  the 
window-panes  rattled. 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.  321 

"  Now  go  out,  thou  soldier ! "  said  Shmul,  phlegmati- 
cally. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Eepa  was  approaching  his  cottage ; 
his  wife,  who  was  cooking  breakfast  just  then,  heard  him 
when  the  gate  squeaked,  and  ran  straight  from  the  fire  to 
meet  him ;  she  was  very  angry. 

"  Thou  drunkard  ! "  began  she. 

But  when  she  looked  at  the  man,  she  was  frightened, 
for  she  hardly  knew  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  thee  ? " 

Eepa  went  into  the  cottage,  and  at  first  could  not 
say  a  word ;  he  only  sat  on  the  bench  and  looked  at  the 
floor. 

But  Marysia  began  to  inquire,  and  got  everything  out 
of  him  finally. 

"  They  sold  me,"  said  he. 

Then  she  in  her  turn  broke  into  a  great  lament ;  he 
after  her ;  the  child  in  the  cradle  began  to  roar ;  Kruchek, 
the  dog,  outside  the  door  howled  so  piteously  that  women 
with  spoons  in  their  hands  ran  among  other  cottages  and 
inquired  one  of  another,  — • 

"  What  has  happened  there  at  Repa's  ? " 

"  It  must  be  that  he  is  beating  her,  or  something." 

Meanwhile  Eepa's  wife  was  lamenting  still  more  than 
Repa  himself,  for  she  loved  him,  poor  woman,  above 
everything  in  the  world. 


322         CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN   WHICH    WE    BECOME    ACQUAINTED   WITH    THE   JUDICIAL 
BODY    OF  BAKANIA-GLOVA  AND    ITS   CHIEF    KEPRESENTA- 

TIVES. 

NEXT  morning  there  was  a  session  of  the  communal 
court.  Members  from  the  whole  place  were  as- 
sembled, with  the  exception  of  the  lords,  or  nobles. 
Though  a  few  nobles  in  the  district  were  members,  those 
few,  not  wishing  to  differ  from  their  peers,  adhered  to  the 
policy  known  in  England  as  non-intervention,  a  policy  so 
much  lauded  by  that  renowned  statesman  John  Bright. 
This  abstention  did  not  exclude,  however,  the  direct  in- 
fluence of  the  "  intelligence  "  on  the  fate  of  the  commune. 
For  if  any  man  of  the  "  intelligence  "  had  a  case,  he  in- 
vited Pan  Zolzik  to  his  house  on  the  eve  of  the  session 
of  the  court,  vodka  was  brought  to  the  room  of  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  "  intelligence,"  and  cigars  were  given ; 
after  that  the  affair  was  discussed  easily,  then  followed 
dinner,  to  which  Pan  Zolzik  was  invited  with  the  cordial 
words,  "  Well,  sit  down,  Pan  Zolzik,  sit  down ! " 

Pan  Zolzik  sat  down ;  and  next  day  he  said  care- 
lessly to  the  mayor,  "Yesterday  I  dined  with  the 
Zarembas,  the  Skorabevskis,  or  the  Dovbors.  Hm  !  There 
is  a  daughter  in  the  house;  we  understand  what  that 
means ! " 

During  dinner  Pan  Zolzik  tried  to  maintain  good  man- 
ners, to  eat  of  various  problematical  dishes  in  the  way 
that  he  saw  others  eat  of  them,  and  tried,  moreover,  not 
to  show  that  that  intimacy  with  the  mansion  gave  him 
too  much  pleasure. 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.  323 

He  was  a  man  filled  with  tact,  who  knew  how  to  con- 
duct himself  everywhere ;  therefore,  not  only  did  he  not 
lose  courage  on  such  occasions,  but  he  pushed  himself 
into  the  conversation,  mentioning  meanwhile  this  "  hon- 
orable commissioner"  or  that  "excellent  chief,"  with 
whom  yesterday,  or  some  other  day,  he  had  played  a 
small  game  at  a  copeck  a  point.  In  one  word,  he  en- 
deavored to  show  that  he  was  on  a  footing  of  close  inti- 
macy with  the  first  powers  in  the  district.  He  noticed, 
it  is  true,  that  during  his  narratives  the  company  looked 
somehow  strangely  into  their  plates ;  but  he  judged  that 
that  was  the  fashion.  After  dinner  it  astonished  him 
also  more  than  once,  that  the  noble,  without  waiting  for 
him  to  say  farewell,  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and 
said,  "  Well,  be  in  good  health,  Pan  Zolzik ; :>  but  again 
he  judged  that  that  was  the  way  in  good  society.  Then, 
while  pressing  the  host's  hand  in  farewell,  he  felt  in  it 
something  that  rustled ;  he  bent  his  fingers,  and,  pressing 
the  noble's  palm,  he  gathered  to  himself  that  something 
"  that  rustled,"  not  forgetting  to  add,  however,  "  Oh,  my 
benefactor !  there  is  no  need  of  this  between  us.  As  to 
your  case,  you  may  be  at  rest,  my  benefactor." 

With  such  energetic  management,  and  with  the  native 
gifts  of  Pan  Zolzik,  the  affairs  of  the  village  would  have 
been  conducted  in  the  best  manner  surely,  had  it  not 
been  for  one  misfortune ;  namely,  this  one,  that  only  in 
certain  cases  did  Pan  Zolzik  raise  his  voice  and  explain 
to  the  court  how  it  should  consider  an  affair  from  the 
legal  point  of  view.  Other  affairs,  those  not  preceded  by 
anything  that  rustled,  were  left  to  the  independent 
action  of  the  court,  and  during  the  course  of  this  action 
he  remained  speechless,  to  the  great  distress  of  the  judges, 
who  then  felt  simply  without  a  head. 

Of  the  nobles,  or  more  precisely  of  the  lords,  only  one, 


324  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

Pan  Floss,  the  tenant  of  Maly  Postempovitsi,  sat  at  first 
as  a  judge  in  the  village  sessions;  and  he  declared  that 
the  "  intelligence  "  should  take  part  in  them.  But  this 
declaration  was  received  ill  everywhere.  The  nobles  said 
that  Pan  Floss  must  be  a  "  red,"  which  for  that  matter 
was  shown  by  his  name.  The  peasants,  with  a  demo- 
cratic feeling  of  their  own  separateness,  contended  that 
it  did  not  become  a  lord  to  sit  on  a  bench  with  peasants, 
the  best  proof  of  which  was  contained  in  this  statement, 
"Those  lords  do  not  do  that."  In  general,  the  peasants 
reproached  Pan  Floss  with  not  being  a  lord  among  lords. 
Pan  Zolzik,  too,  did  not  like  him ;  for  Pan  Floss  had  not 
tried  to  win  his  friendship  with  anything  that  rustled, 
and  once  at  a  sitting  Pan  Floss  had,  as  judge,  even  ordered 
him  to  be  silent.  Discontent  with  Pan  Floss  was  uni- 
versal ;  the  result  of  which  wras  that  on  a  certain  fine 
morning,  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  assembly,  he  heard 
from  the  mouth  of  a  judge  sitting  near  him  the  follow- 
ing, "  You  are  not  a  lord !  Pan  Dovbor  is  a  lord ;  Pan 
Skorabevski  is  a  lord  ;  but  you  are  not  a  lord,  you  are 
an  upstart."  Upon  hearing  this,  Pan  Floss,  who  was  just 
about  buying  Kruha  Volya,  spat  on  everything,  and  left 
the  village  to  its  own  devices,  as  he  had  formerly  left 
the  city.  But  the  nobility  said  that  "  he  was  played 
out,"  adding,  meanwhile,  in  defence  of  the  principle  of 
non-intervention,  one  of  those  proverbs  which  form  the 
wisdom  of  nations ;  this  proverb  went  to  prove  that  it 
is  not  possible  to  improve  peasants.  Now  the  council, 
untroubled  by  participation  of  the  "  intelligence,"  delib- 
erated on  their  own  affairs  unaided  by  the  superior  ele- 
ment, and  by  means  of  Barania-Glova  reason  alone, 
which,  moreover,  should  suffice,  in  virtue  of  the  prin- 
ciple that  the  reason  of  Paris  suffices  Paris.  Finally,  it 
is  certain  that  practical  judgment,  or,  in  other  words, 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  325 

the  so-called  "  sound  peasant  sense,"  is  worth  more  than 
any  intelligence  of  another  element,  and  that  the  inhab- 
itants of  a  country  brought  its  sound  sense  by  birtli  into 
said  country.  This,  it  strikes  me,  needs  no  demonstration. 

And  this  became  evident  at  once  in  the  village  of 
Barania-Glova,  when  at  the  above-mentioned  session  the 
question  from  the  government  was  read,  whether  the 
council  would  repair,  at  its  own  cost,  the  highway  in 
front  of  the  communal  land,  which  highway  led  to  Oslo- 
vitsi.  In  general,  the  project  was  exceedingly  disagree- 
able to  the  assembled  patres  conscripti  ;  therefore  one  of 
the  local  senators  gave  utterance  to  the  brilliant  idea  that 
there  was  no  need  to  improve  the  road,  for  they  could  go 
through  Pan  Skorabevski's  meadow.  If  Pan  Skorabevski 
had  been  present  at  the  session,  he  would  no  doubt  have 
found  something  to  say  against  this  pro  bono  publico 
amendment ;  but  he  was  not  there,  for  he  adhered  to 
the  principle  of  non-intervention.  The  project  of  going 
through  the  meadow  would  have  been  accepted  unani- 
mously had  Pan  Zolzik  not  dined  at  Pan  Skorabevski's 
the  day  before.  During  the  dinner  he  related  to  Panna 
Yadviga  the  scene  of  stifling  two  Spanish  generals  in 
Madrid,  which  he  had  read  in  "  Isabella  of  Spain,"  pub- 
lished by  Pan  Breslauer.  After  dinner,  while  pressing 
the  hand  of  Pan  Skorabevski,  he  felt  in  his  palm  some- 
thing that  rustled.  Now  the  secretary,  instead  of  record- 
ing the  decision,  laid  down  his  pen,  which  always  meant 
that  he  wanted  to  say  something. 

"The  lord  secretary  wants  to  say  something,"  said 
voices  in  the  assembly. 

"I  want  to  say  that  ye  are  fools  !"  answered  the  lord 
secretary,  phlegmatically. 

The  power  of  real  parliamentary  eloquence,  even  when 
concise,  is  so  great  that  after  the  above  statement,  which 


326  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

was  a  protest  against  the  meadow  amendment,  and  in 
general  against  administrative  management  by  the  Bara- 
nia-Glova  body,  that  same  body  began  to  look  around 
with  disquiet,  and  to  scratch  itself  on  its  noble  organ  of 
thought,  which  with  that  body  was  an  unerring  indica- 
tion of  entering  into  business  more  profoundly. 

At  last,  after  a  considerable  interval  of  silence,  one  of 
its  representatives  answered  -in  a  tone  of  inquiry, — 

"  Why  are   we  fools  ?  " 

"Because  ye  are  fools." 

"It  must  be  so,"  said  one  voice. 

"  A  meadow  is  a  meadow,"  added  a  second. 

"We  cannot  pass  without  it,  in  spring,"  finished  a 
third. 

To  wind  up,  the  amendment  proposing  Pan  Skora- 
bevski's  meadow  was  lost,  the  official  project  was  ac- 
cepted, and  they  apportioned  to  each  man  his  part  in  the 
expense  of  improving  the  road  according  to  the  estimate 
sent  in.  Justice  was  rooted  to  that  degree  in  the  minds 
of  the  legislative  body,  that  it  did  not  occur  to  any  one 
to  wriggle  out,  with  the  exception  of  the  mayor  and 
councilman  Gomula,  who,  to  make  up,  took  on  themselves 
the  burden  of  seeing  that  everything  was  done  as  quickly 
as  possible. 

It  should  be  confessed,  however,  that  such  a  disin- 
terested sacrifice  on  the  part  of  the  mayor  and  the  coun- 
cilman, like  every  virtue  which  goes  beyond  the  ordinary 
limit,  roused  a  certain  jealousy  in  the  other  councillors, 
and  even  called  forth  one  voice  of  protest  which  sounded 
angrily,  - 

"  But  why  do  ye  not  pay  ?  " 

"  Why  should  we  give  money  when  what  ye  pay  is 
enough  ? "  answered  Gomula. 

This  was  an    argument  which   I  hope  not  only  the 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  327 

sound  sense  of  Barania-Glova,  but  of  every  one  would 
have  found  unanswerable.  The  voice  of  the  protester 
was  silent  for  a  time,  then  it  said  in  a  tone  of  con- 
viction, — 

"That  is  true!" 

The  affair  was  settled  thoroughly,  and  they  would 
have  proceeded  without  delay  to  the  decision  of  others, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  sudden  and  unexpected  invasion 
of  the  legislative  chamber  by  two  young  pigs,  which, 
rushing  in  as  if  mad,  through  the  open  door,  began 
without  any  reasonable  cause  to  fly  through  the  room, 
running  between  the  men's  legs,  and  squealing  in  sky- 
piercing  voices. 

Of  course  deliberation  was  interrupted ;  the  legislative 
body  rushed  in  pursuit  of  the  intruders ;  and  for  a  time 
the  deputies,  with  rare  unanimity,  cried,  "  Ah  sik  !  ah 
tsiu !  "  "  May  the  paralysis  take  you  !  "  and  the  like. 
Meanwhile  the  pigs  ran  between  Pan  Zolzik's  legs,  and 
stained,  with  some  green  stuff,  his  sand-colored  trousers ; 
this  greenness  could  not  be  rubbed  off,  even  though  Pan 
Zolzik  washed  it  with  glycerine  soap  and  rubbed  it  with 
his  own  toothbrush. 

But,  thanks  to  the  resolution  and  energy  which  never 
deserted  the  representatives  of  the  commune,  and  did  not 
desert  them  at  that  time,  the  pigs  were  seized  by  the 
hind-legs  and,  in  spite  of  their  most  vigorous  protests, 
thrown  out  through  the  doorway.  After  this,  it  was 
possible  to  pass  to  the  order  of  the  day. 

In  this  order  was  found  an  action  brought  by  a  vil- 
lager named  Sroda  against  Pan  Floss.  It  happened  that 
Sroda's  oxen,  having  filled  themselves  in  the  night  with 
Pan  Floss's  clover,  toward  morning  left  this  vale  of 
tears  and  misery,  and  transferred  themselves  to  a 
better  and  an  ox  world.  Sroda,  in  despair,  brought  the 


328  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES'. 

whole  sad  case  before  the  court,  and  implored  justice  and 
deliverance. 

The  court  penetrated  to  the  depth  of  the  subject,  and, 
with  a  quickness  peculiar  to  itself,  came  to  the  convic- 
tion that,  though  Sroda  had  let  his  cattle  into  Pan  Floss's 
field  intentionally,  still,  if  on  that  field  there  had  been 
growing,  for  example,  grass  or  wheat,  not  that  "vile 
clover,"  the  oxen  would  have  enjoyed  to  that  moment  the 
best  and  most  desirable  health,  and  certainly  would  not 
have  experienced  those  sad  attacks  of  inflation  to  which 
they  had  fallen  victims. 

Starting  from  this  major  premise,  and  passing  by  a 
road,  as  logical  as  it  was  legal,  to  the  minor  premise,  the 
court  decided  that  in  every  case,  not  Sroda  had  caused 
the  death  of  the  oxen,  but  Pan  Floss;  therefore  Pan 
Floss  should  pay  Sroda  for  his  oxen,  and,  as  a  warning 
for  the  future,  he  was  to  pay  into  the  village  treasury 
five  rubles  for  the  support  of  the  chancery.  The  above- 
mentioned  sum,  in  case  the  defendant  refused  payment, 
was  to  be  taken  from  his  dairy  farmer,  Itska  Zweinos. 

Next  were  decided  several  cases  of  a  civil  nature,  all 
of  which,  in  so  far  as  they  did  not  touch  nearly  or  re- 
motely the  genial  Zolzik,  were  decided  with  entire  inde- 
pendence, and  on  the  scales  of  pure  justice  hung  on 
sound  Barania-Glova  reason. 

Thanks,  therefore,  to  the  English  principle  of  non- 
intervention, which  was  adhered  to  by  the  afore-men- 
tioned "  intelligence,"  the  general  harmony  and  unanimity 
was  disturbed  only  by  passing  remarks  touching  paraly- 
sis, the  decaying  of  intestines,  and  the  plague,  which 
were  uttered  in  the  form  of  wishes  by  the  litigating 
parties  as  well  as  by  the  judges  themselves. 

I  consider  that,  thanks  also  to  this  priceless  principle 
of  non-intervention,  all  disputes  could  be  decided  in  this 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.  329 

way,  that  the  side  gaining,  as  well  as  the  side  losing,  paid 
always  a  certain  sum,  relatively  rather  large,  "to  the 
chancery."  This  insured  indirectly  that  which  is  so 
desirable  in  village  institutions,  the  independence  of  the 
mayor  and  the  secretary,  and  had  the  virtue  to  wean  the 
people  from  litigiousness,  and  raise  the  morality  of 
Barania-Glova  to  a  level  of  which  eighteenth-century 
philosophers  dreamed  in  vain.  This  also  is  worthy  of 
attention  (we  refrain  from  expressing  praise  or  blame), 
that  Pan  Zolzik  always  entered  in  his  books  only  one 
half  of  the  sum  destined  for  the  chancery,  the  other  half 
was  set  aside  for  "unforeseen  circumstances,"  in  which 
the  secretary,  the  mayor,  and  councilman  Gomula  might 
find  themselves. 

Finally,  the  court  proceeded  to  judge  criminal  cases  ;  in 
consequence  of  this  they  ordered  the  village  policeman  to 
bring  in  the  prisoners  and  place  them  in  presence  of  the 
court.  I  need  not  add  that  in  Barania-Glova  the  newest 
system  of  imprisonment  was  adopted,  —  the  system  most 
consistent  with  the  demands  of  civilization,  namely,  sol- 
itary confinement.  This  cannot  be  put  in  doubt  by  evil 
tongues.  To-day  any  one  may  convince  himself  that  in 
the  mayor's  pen  at  Barania-Glova  there  are  as  many  as 
four  divisions.  The  prisoners  sit  in  these  separately,  in 
company  with  animals  of  which  a  certain  zoojogy,  for 
the  use  of  youth,  states,  "  The  pig,  an  animal  justly  so 
called  because  of  its  uncleanness,  etc.,"  and  to  which 
nature  has  denied  horns  absolutely,  which  may  also  serve 
as  a  proof  of  its  wisdom.  Here  prisoners  sat  in  apart- 
ments only  with  companions,  which,  as  is  known,  could 
not  hinder  them  from  yielding  themselves  to  reflection, 
thinking  over  the  evil  they  had  done,  and  undertaking  a 
change  of  life. 

The  policeman  went  without  delay  to  that  prison  of 


330  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

cells,  and  from  those  cells  brought  before  the  face  of  the 
court,  not  two  male  criminals,  but  a  man  and  a  woman ; 
from  this  the  reader  may  infer  easily  how  delicate  was 
the  nature,  and  how  psychologically  involved  were  the 
cases  which  the  court  of  Barania-Glova  had  to  decide  at 
times.  In  truth,  this  affair  was  very  delicate,  — 

A  certain  Eomeo,  otherwise  named  Vah  Rehnio,  and  a 
certain  Juliet,  otherwise  called  Baska  Jabianka,  worked 
together  with  an  agriculturist,  one  as  a  serving-man,  the 
other  as  a  maid-servant.  And.  what  is  the  use  of  con- 
cealment, they  fell  in  love,  being  unable  to  live  without 
each  other,  just  as  Nevazendeh 1  could  not  live  without 
Bezevandeha.1  Soon,  however,  jealousy  crept  in  between 
Eomeo  and  Juliet ;  for  the  latter  once  saw  Eomeo  stopping 
too  long  with  Yagna  of  the  mansion-house.  Thenceforth, 
the  unfortunate  Juliet  was  merely  waiting  for  her  op- 
portunity. So  on  a  certain  day,  when  Eomeo  came  from 
the'  field  too  early,  according  to  Juliet's  thinking,  and 
asked  for  his  supper  with  insistence,  matters  came  to  an 
outburst  and  explanations  on  both  sides,  whereby  there 
was  an  interchange  of  some  dozens  of  blows  of  the  fist 
and  of  a  pot-ladle.  The  traces  of  these  blows  were  to  be 
seen  in  blue  spots  on  the  ideal  face  of  Juliet,  as  well  as 
on  the  cut  forehead  of  Eomeo,  which  was  full  of  manly 
pride.  The  court  had  to  declare  on  whose  side  was  jus- 
tice, and  which  was  to  pay  the  other  five  zlotys,  or, 
speaking  more  correctly,  seventy  copecks  silver,  in  com- 
pensation for  deceit  in  love,  and  the  results  of  the 
outburst. 

The  corrupt  breath  of  the  West  had  not  been  able  yet 
to  embrace  the  sound  mental  character  of  the  court; 
hence,  disgusted  to  the  bottom  of  their  souls  with  ernan- 

1  Two  pigeous  in  one  of  the  Persian  fables  of  Bidpay  or  Pilpay. 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  331 

cipation  of  woman,  as  a  thing  hostile,  and  revolting  to 
the  more  ideal  disposition  of  the  Slavs,  the  judges  gave 
the  right  of  speech,  first,  to  Romeo,  who,  holding  his  cut 
forehead,  began, — 

"  Great,  mighty  court !  But  that  pig  ear  has  given  me 
no  peace  this  long  time.  I  came  home,  like  any  good 
man,  to  supper,  and  she  made  at  me.  '  Thou  chestnut 
dog,'  says  she,  '  the  master  is  in  the  field  yet,  and  thou 
come  now  to  the  house !  Thou  wilt  put  thyself  behind 
the  stove,  and  blink  at  me.'  I  never  scolded  her;  but 
when  she  saw  me  with  Yagna  of  the  mansion,  as  I  helped 
the  girl  to  draw  water  out  of  the  well,  from  that  moment 
she  was  raging  at  me.  She  threw  my  plate  on  the  table 
so  the  food  almost  flew  from  it,  and  then  she  would  n't 
let  me  eat  it ;  she  gave  out  her  mind  at  me  in  this  way, 
'  Thou  son  of  a  pagan,  thou  traitor,  thou  geometer,  thou 
suffragan  ! '  When  she  said  suffragan,  and  only  then,  I 
gave  it  to  her  on  the  snout,  and  only  so  from  temper ; 
but  she  at  me  then  with  a  pot-ladle  on  the  forehead." 

Here  the  ideal  Juliet  could  not  restrain  herself;  but, 
clinching  her  fist  and  shoving  it  under  Eomeo's  nose,  she 
cried,  with  shrieking  voice,  — 

"  Not  true !  not  true !  not  true !  Thou  liest  like  a 
dog!" 

Then  she  burst  into  weeping  with  her  whole  overflow- 
ing heart,  and,  turning  to  the  court,  cried,  — 

"  Great,  mighty  court !  I  am  an  unfortunate  orphan. 
Oh,  help  me,  for  God's  sake  !  It  was  not  at  the  well  I  saw 
him  with  Yagna  ;  may  they  be  blind  !  '  Libertine  ! '  says 
I,  '  are  the  times  few  that  thou  didst  say  that  thy  love  for 
me  was  such  that  thou  didst  wish  to  put  a  fist  under  my 
rib  ? '  May  he  melt ;  may  his  tongue  become  a  stake ! 
Xot  a  pot-ladle  should  he  get  on  the  head,  but  a  maple 
club.  The  sun  was  still  high,  but  he  comes  from  the 


332  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

field  and  calls  for  something  to  put  in  his  stomach.  I 
talk  to  him  as  if  to  some  good  man,  politely, '  Thou  scoun- 
drel's picture,'  says  I,  '  the  master  is  in  the  field  yet,  and 
thou  art  at  the  house ! '  But  I  did  n't  call  him  a  suf- 
fragan ;  as  the  Lord  God  is  good  to  me,  I  did  not !  But 
may  he  — " 

At  this  point  the  mayor  called  the  defendant  to  order, 
making  a  remark  to  her  in  the  form  of  a  question,  — 

"  Thou  plague,  wilt  thou  shut  that  snout  of  thine  ? " 

A  moment  of  silence  followed;  the  judges  began  to 
meditate  over  the  sentence ;  and  what  a  delicate  feeling 
of  the  situation !  They  did  not  adjudge  five  zlotys  to 
either  side  ;  but,  to  preserve  their  own  dignity  merely,  and 
for  a  warning  to  every  loving  couple  in  all  Barania-Glova, 
they  condemned  the  two  to  sit  twenty-four  hours  longer 
in  prison,  and  to  pay  a  ruble  each  to  the  chancery. 

"  From  Vah  Rehnio  and  Baska  Jabianka,  fifty  copecks 
each  for  the  chancery,"  noted  down  Pan  Zolzik. 

Then  the  sitting  of  the  court  was  ended.  Pan  Zolzik 
rose ;  he  drew  his  sand-colored  trousers  up,  and  his  violet- 
colored  vest  down.  The  councillors,  with  the  intention 
of  separating,  had  already  taken  their  caps  and  whips, 
when  all  at  once  the  door,  which  had  been  closed  after 
the  invasion  of  the  pigs,  opened  half-way,  and  in  it 
appeared  Eepa,  gloomy  as  night,  and  after  him  his  wife, 
and  the  dog  Kruchek. 

The  woman  was  as  pale  as  linen ;  her  comely,  deli- 
cate features  expressed  grief  and  humility,  and  in  her 
large  eyes  were  tears  which  afterward  flowed  down  her 
cheeks. 

Eepa  was  going  in  boldly,  with  head  thrown  back ;  but 
when  he  saw  the  whole  court,  he  lost  his  attitude  at  once, 
and,  in  rather  a  low  voice,  said,  — 

"  May  He  be  praised  ! " 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  333 

"  For  the  ages  of  ages ! "  answered  the  councilrneii,  in  a 
chorus. 

"And  what  are  ye  here  for?"  asked  the  mayor,  threat- 
eningly. The  mayor  was  confused  at  first,  but  he  recov- 
ered himself ,  " What  business  have  ye?  Have  ye  been 
fighting,  or  what  ?  " 

"Great,  mighty  court,"  began  Repa.  "But  let  the 
most  serene  —  " 

"  Be  quiet !  be  quiet ! "  interrupted  the  woman ;  "  let 
me  speak,  and  do  thou  sit  quietly." 

Then  she  wiped  the  tears  and  her  nose  with  her  apron, 
and  began  to  tell  the  whole  story,  with  a  trembling  voice. 
Ah  !  but  to  whom  had  she  come  ?  She  had  come  with  a 
complaint  against  the  mayor  and  the  secretary,  to  the 
mayor  and  the  secretary. 

"  They  took  him,"  said  she  ;  "  they  promised  him  timber 
if  he  would  write  his  name ;  then  he  wrote  his  name. 
They  gave  him  fifty  rubles ;  but  he  was  drunk,  and  he 
didn't  know  that  he  was  selling  his  life  and  mine  and 
the  little  boy's.  He  was  drunk,  great,  mighty  court,  as 
drunk  as  if  he  were  not  a  creature  of  God,"  continued  she, 
now  in  tears.  "  Of  course  a  drunken  man  does  not  know 
what  he  is  doing;  so  in  the  court,  if  any  one  writes  any- 
thing when  he  is  drunk,  they  spare  him,  for  they  say 
that  he  did  not  know  what  he  was  doing.  In  God's  name, 
mercy!  A  sober  man  would  not  sell  his  life  for  fifty 
rubles  !  Have  pity  on  me,  and  on  him,  and  on  the  inno- 
cent child !  What  will  become  of  me,  the  unfortunate, 
alone,  and  alone  in  the  world,  without  him,  without  my 
poor  fellow !  God  give  you  happinass  for  this,  and 
reward  you  in  the  name  of  the  unfortunate ! " 

Here  sobbing  interrupted  her  words.  Repa  cried,  too, 
and  from  time  to  time  wiped  his  nose  with  his  finger. 
The  faces  of  the  councilmen  grew  long ;  they  looked  one 


334  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

at  another,  and  then  at  the  secretary  and  the  mayor, 
without  knowing  what  to  do,  until  the  woman  recovered 
her  voice,  and  began  to  speak  again,  — 

"  The  man  goes  about  as  if  poisoned.  '  Thee  I  will 
kill,'  says  he.  '  I  will  destroy  the  child ;  I  will  burn  the 
house ;  but,'  says  he,  '  I  will  not  go,  and  I  will  not  go.' 
How  am  I  to  blarne,  poor  woman,  or  the  little  boy  ?  He 
is  no  longer  in  the  field,  at  the  scythe,  or  the  axe ;  but  he 
sits  in  the  house  and  sighs  and  sighs.  But  I  wait  for 
judgment;  so  do  you  men  have  God  in  your  hearts, 
and  do  not  let  injustice  be  done.  Jesus  of  Nazareth  ! 
O  Chenstohova  Mother  of  God !  intercede  for  us, 
intercede ! " 

For  a  time  nothing  was  audible  but  the  sobbing  of 
the  woman  ;  at  last  one  old  councilman  muttered,  — 

"  It  is  not  well  to  make  a  man  drunk,  and  then  sell 
him." 

"  No ;  it  is  not  well,"  answered  others. 

"May  God  and  His  Most  Holy  Mother  bless  you!" 
cried  the  woman,  falling  on  her  knees  at  the  threshold. 

The  mayor  was  put  to  shame;  no  less  troubled  was 
the  councilman  Gomula ;  so  both  looked  at  the  secretary, 
who  was  silent;  but  when  Eepa's  wife  had  finished,  he 
said  to  the  grumbling  councilmen,  — 

"Ye  are  fools!" 

There  was  silence  as  when  poppy-seed  falls. 

"It  is  written  expressly,"  continued  the  secretary, 
"  that  if  any  one  meddles  in  a  voluntary  contract  he  will 
be  judged  by  a  marine  court.  And  do  ye  know,  ye  fools, 
what  a  marine  court  is  ?  Ye  do  not,  ye  fools ;  a  marine 
court  is  — "  Here  he  took  out  his  handkerchief  and 
wiped  his  nose ;  then,  with  a  cold  and  official  voice,  he 
continued  his  speech,  "  Whichever  fool  of  you  does  n't 
know  what  a  marine  court  is,  let  him  stick  his  nose  into 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.  335 

the  dish,  and  he  will  know  what  a  marine  court  is  till 
his  seventh  skin  smarts.  When  a  volunteer  is  found  for 
a  man  who  is  conscripted,  let  one  and  another  of  you  be 
careful  not  to  meddle  with  them.  The  contract  is  signed ; 
there  are  witnesses ;  and  that  is  the  end  of  the  matter ! 
This  is  understood  in  jurisprudence;  and  if  any  one 
does  n't  believe,  let  him  look  at  procedure  and  precedents. 
And  if  they  drink  besides,  what  of  that  ?  But  don't  ye 
drink,  ye  fools,  always  and  everywhere  ? " 

If  Justice  herself,  with  scales  in  one  hand,  and  a  drawn 
sword  in  the  other,  had  stepped  out  from  behind  the 
mayor's  stove,  and  stood  suddenly  among  the  councilmen, 
she  would  not  have  frightened  them  more  than  that 
marine  court,  procedure,  and  precedents.  For  a  while, 
there  was  deep  silence ;  only  after  a  time  did  Gomula 
speak  in  a  low  voice;  all  looked  around  at  him,  as  if 
astonished  at  his  boldness. 

"  That  is  true !  A  man  sells  a  horse,  he  drinks ;  the 
same  if  he  sells  an  ox,  a  pig  too.  That 's  the  custom." 

"  That 's  it ;  we  drink,  but  according  to  custom,"  put 
in  the  mayor. 

Then  the  councilmen  turned  more  boldly  to  Repa,  — 

"  Well,  if  thou  hast  brewed  beer,  drink  it." 

"  Or,  art  thou  six  years  old,  or  knowest  hot  what  thou 
art  doing?" 

"  Besides  they  will  not  take  off  thy  head." 

"  And  when  thou  goest  to  the  army,  thou  canst  hire 
a  man ;  he  will  take  thy  place  in  the  house,  and  with 
the  woman." 

Joyfulness  began  to  possess  the  whole  assembly. 

All  at  once  the  secretary  opened  his  mouth  again ;  all 
was  still. 

"  But  ye  do  not  know,"  said  he,  "  where  to  interfere, 
and  what  ye  shouldn't  touch.  That  Repa  threatened 


336  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

his  wife  and  child,  that  he  promised  to  burn  his  own 
house,  with  that  ye  can  meddle,  and  not  let  such  a  thing 
go  unpunished.  Since  the  woman  has  come  with  a 
complaint,  let  her  not  go  away  from  this  court  without 
justice." 

"  Not  true,  not  true  ! "  cried  the  woman,  in  despair. 
"  I  have  never  suffered  any  wrong  from  him.  0  Jesus  ! 
0  dear  wounds  of  the  living  God  !  —  has  the  world  come 
to  an  end  ? " 

But  the  court  acted,  and  the  direct  result  was,  that 
Eepa  and  his  wife  not  only  effected  nothing,  but  the 
court,  in  proper  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  the  woman, 
decided  to  secure  her  by  confining  Repa  in  the  pen  for 
two  days.  And  lest  such  thoughts  should  come  to  his 
head  in  future,  it  was  decided  also  that  he  should  pay 
two  rubles  and  a  half  to  the  chancery. 

Eepa  sprang  up  like  a  madman,  and  shouted  that  he 
would  not  go  to  the  pen,  and  as  to  the  chancery  fine,  he 
would  give  not  two  rubles,  but  the  fifty  rubles  received 
from  the  mayor ;  and  he  threw  them  on  the  floor, 
crying,  - 

"  Let  the  man  take  them  who  wishes !  " 

A  terrible  uproar  began.  The  policeman  ran  in  and 
fell  to  dragging  Repa ;  Repa  at  him  with  his  fist,  he 
at  Repa's  hair.  She  screamed  till  one  of  the  councilmen 
took  her  by  the  neck  and  pushed  her  through  the  door- 
way, giving  her  a  fist  in  the  back  to  help  her  out ;  others 
helped  the  policeman  to  drag  Repa  to  the  pen. 

Meanwhile  the  secretary  wrote  down,  "  From  Vavron 
Repa  one  ruble  and  twenty-five  copecks  for  the  chancery." 

Repa's  wife  went  to  her  empty  house  almost  out  of 
her  senses.  She  saw  nothing  in  front  of  her,  and 
stumbled  against  every  stone,  wringing  her  hands  above 
her  head  and  crving,  "Ooo  !  oo]  oo  !" 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.  337 

The  mayor  had  a  good  heart,  therefore,  while  going 
slowly  with  Gomula  toward  the  inn,  he  said, — 

"  I  am  a  little  sorry  for  that  woman.  Shall  I  give 
them  a  quarter  of  peas,  or  something  ? " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IMOGENE. 

• 

HEEE  I  hope  that  the  reader  has  understood  suffi- 
ciently and  estimated  the  genial  plan  of  my 
sympathetic  hero.  Pan  Zolzik  had,  as  has  been  said, 
checkmated  Repa  and  his  wife.  To  inscribe  Eepa  on  the 
list  would  have  led  to  nothing.  But  to  make  him  drunk, 
and  bring  it  about  that  he  should  sign  the  agreement 
himself,  and  take  the  money,  that  involved  the  affair 
somewhat,  and  was  a  clever  trick  which  showed  that 
in  a  concourse  of  circumstances  Pan  Zolzik  might  play 
a  famous  role.  The  mayor,  who  was  ready  to  ransom 
his  son  with  eight  hundred  rubles,  that  was  surely  all 
his  "  copper,"  agreed  to  the  plan  with  delight ;  all  the 
more  since  Pan  Zolzik  was  as  moderate  as  he  was 
genial,  taking  only  twenty-five  rubles  for  his  part  in  the 
affair.  But  even  this  money  he  took  without  greed, 
just  as  he  gave  part  of  the  chancery  money  also  without 
greed  to  Burak.  I  have  to  confess  that  Pan  Zolzik  was 
always  in  debt  to  Srul,  the  tailor  from  Oslovitsi,  who 
furnished  the  whole  region  about  with  "  pure  Parisian  " 
garments. 

And  now,  since  I  have  come  out  into  the  road  of  con- 
fession, I  will  not  conceal  the  reason  why  Pan  Zolzik 
dressed  so  carefully.  It  flowed,  no  doubt,  from  sesthetic 
causes ;  but  there  was  also  another  motive,  the  following  : 

22 


338  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

Pan  Zolzik  was  in  love.  Do  not  think,  however,  that 
it  was  with  Repa:s  wife.  He  had  for  the  woman,  as  he 
expressed  himself  once,  a  "  little  appetite,"  and  that  was 
all.  Besides  this,  Pan  Zolzik  was  capable  of  a  feeling 
which  reached  higher  and  was  very  complicated.  My 
male,  if  not  female,  readers  surely  divine  that  the  object 
of  these  feelings  could  be  no  other  than  Panna  Yadviga 
Skorabevski.  More  than  once  when  the  silver  moon  had 
mounted  the  sky,  Pan  Zolzik  took  his  harmonium,  on 
which  instrument  he  played  with  skill,  sat  on  the  bench 
before  the  house  of  four  tenements,  and,  looking  toward 
the  mansion,  sang  with  melancholy,  and  sometimes  with 
sighing :  — 

"  But  from  the  very  dawn, 
Till  late  night,  I  shed  tears ; 
In  the  night  I  breathe  heavy  sighs ; 
I  have  lost  every  hope." 

The  voice  went  toward  the  mansion,  amid  the  poetic 
stillness  of  summer  nights ;  and  Pan  Zolzik  added,  after 
a  while, — 

"  O  people,  O  people,  people  unfeeling, 
Why  have  ye  poisoned  the  life  of  the  young  man  ?  " 

If  any  man  condemns  Pan  Zolzik  for  sentimentality,  I 
will  answer  that  he  is  mistaken.  Too  sober  was  the 
mind  of  this  great  official  to  be  sentimental.  In  his 
dreams,  Panna  Yadviga  took  the  place  of  Isabella  of 
Spain,  and  he  that  of  Serrano  or  Marfori.  But  as 
reality  did  not  answer  to  his  dreams,  this  iron  personage 
betrayed  himself  once  in  his  feelings ;  namely,  when 
toward  evening,  he  saw,  near  the  woodshed,  petticoats 
drying  on  a  clothes-line ;  and  by  the  letters  Y.  S.,  with  a 
crown  near  the  seam,  he  recognized  that  they  belonged 
to  Panna  Yadviga. 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  339 

Then  tell  us,  benefactor,  who  could  restrain  himself  ? 
Pan  Zolzik  did  not  restrain  himself ;  he  approached  and 
fell  to  kissing  one  of  these  petticoats  fervently.  Mal- 
goska,  the  housemaid,  seeing  this,  flew  at  once  to  the 
mansion  with  her  tongue  and  news  that,  "  The  lord 
secretary  was  wiping  his  nose  on  the  young  lady's  pet- 
ticoat." Happily,  however,  no  one  believed  this,  and 
the  feelings  of  the  lord  secretary  were  revealed  to  no 
person. 

But  had  he  hope  ?  Do  not  take  it  ill,  my  benefactors, 
that  he  had.  As  often  as  he  went  to  the  mansion,  a  cer- 
tain inner  voice,  weak  it  is  true,  but  increasing,  whispered 
in  his  ear, — 

"  Well  now,  Panna  Yadviga  will  press  thy  foot  under 
the  table  during  dinner  to-day."  "  Hm  !  never  mind  the 
polish,"  added  he,  with  that  grandeur  of  soul  which  is 
peculiar  to  persons  in  love. 

The  reading  of  books  published  by  Pan  Breslauer  gave 
him  faitli  in  the  possibility  of  various  pressings.  But 
Panna  Yadviga  not  only  did  not  press  his  foot  — who  can 
understand  woman  ?  —  she  looked  on  him  as  she  would 
on  a  fence,  or  a  cat,  or  a  plate,  or  any  such  thing.  How 
much  he  suffered,  poor  man,  to  turn  her  attention  to 
himself !  More  than  once  when  tying  a  cravat  of  un- 
heard of  colors,  or  while  putting  on  some  new  trousers 
with  fabulous  stripes,  he  thought,  "  This  time  she  will 
notice  me  ! "  Srul  himself,  when  bringing  him  the  new 
suit,  said,  "  Well,  in  such  trousers,  one  might  go  with  pro- 
posals even  to  a  countess  !" 

Of  what  use  is  all  that  to  him  ?  He  is  at  the  dinner ; 
Panna  Yadviga  enters,  haughty,  spotless,  serene  as  a  sove- 
reign ;  her  robe  rustles  with  its  folds,  big  and  little ;  she 
sits  down,  takes  a  spoon  in  her  slender  ringers,  and  does 
not  look  at  him. 


340  CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

"  Does  she  not  understand  that  this  is  costly ! "  thought 
Zolzik,  in  despair. 

Still  he  did  not  lose  hope. 

"  If  I  could  only  become  sub-inspector ! "  thought  he. 
"  A  man  need  not  put  a  foot  out  of  doors.  From  sub- 
inspector  to  inspector  is  not  far ;  a  man  would  have  then 
a  yellow  carriage,  a  pair  of  horses,  and  if  even  then  she 
would  press  one's  hand  under  the  table—  Pan  Zolzik 
permitted  himself  to  go  still  further  into  immeasurably 
remote  consequences  of  this  pressure  of  the  hand ;  but 
we  will  not  betray  his  thoughts,  since  they  were  too 
secretly  heartfelt. 

What  a  rich  nature,  however,  Pan  Zolzik's  was  is 
shown  by  the  ease  with  which,  at  the  side  of  this  ideal 
feeling  for  Panna  Yadviga,  which  moreover  answered  to 
the  aristocratic  tendencies  of  the  young  man,  a  place  was 
found  in  him  for  the  equally  important  "  little  appetite," 
his  feeling  for  Repa's  wife.  True,  Repa's  wife  was  what 
is  called  a  handsome  woman ;  still  it  is  sure  that  this 
Don  Juan  of  Barania-Glova  would  not  have  devoted  so 
many  steps  to  her  had  it  not  been  for  the  wonderful 
stubbornness  of  the  woman,  which  deserved  punishment. 
Stubbornness  in  a  simple  woman,  and  against  him,  seemed 
to  Pan  Zolzik  so  insolent,  so  unheard  of,  that  not  only 
did  the  woman  take  at  once  in  his  eyes  the  charm  of 
forbidden  fruit,  but  he  determined  to  teach  her  the  lesson 
which  she  deserved.  The  affair  with  the  dog,  Kruchek, 
fixed  him  still  more  in  his  purpose.  He  knew  that  the 
victim  would  defend  herself ;  hence  he  invented  that 
voluntary  contract  of  Repa's  with  the  mayor,  which  gave, 
at  least  in  appearance,  to  his  mercy,  or  his  enmity,  Repa 
himself  and  his  entire  family. 

But  Repa's  wife  did  not  give  up  the  affair  as  lost  after 
the  interview  at  the  mayor's.  The  next  day  was  Sunday, 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  341 

and  she  resolved  to  go  as  usual  to  Lipa,  and  take  counsel 
at  once  with  the  priest.  There  were  two  priests  in  Lipa ; 
one  the  parish  priest,  Canon  Ulanovski,  so  old  that  his 
eyes  stared  like  those  of  a  fish,  and  his  head  moved  con- 
tinually, swaying  from  side  to  side ;  not  to  him  did 
Marysia  decide  to  go,  but  to  the  curate,  Father  Chyzik, 
who  was  a  very  holy  man  and  wise ;  therefore  he  could 
give  her  good  counsel  and  console  her.  She  wished  to 
go  early  and  talk  with  him  before  mass ;  but  she  had  to 
do  her  own  work  and  her  husband's  also,  for  he  was  con- 
fined in  the  pen.  Before  she  had  swept  the  cottage,  fed 
the  horse,  the  pigs,  the  cow,  cooked  the  breakfast,  and 
carried  it  to  Eepa  in  the  pen,  the  sun  was  high,  and  she 
saw  that  she  could  not  talk  to  the  priest  before  mass. 

In  fact,  when  she  came  services  had  begun.  Women, 
dressed  in  green  jackets,  were  sitting  in  the  graveyard, 
and  putting  on  hastily  the  shoes  which  they  had  brought 
in  their  hands.  Marysia  did  the  same,  and  went  straight 
into  the  church. 

Father  Chyzik  was  preaching ;  the  canon,  wearing  his 
cap,  was  sitting  in  an  armchair  at  the  side  of  the  altar, 
his  eyes  staring  and  his  head  shaking  as  usuaL  The 
Gospel  had  been  read.  Father  Chyzik  was  preaching,  I 
know  not  for  what  reason,  of  the  Albigensian  heresy  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  and  was  explaining  to  his  parishioners 
in  what  manner  alone  they  were  to  consider  that  heresy, 
as  well  as  the  bull  ex  stercore  which  was  issued  against 
it.  Then  very  eloquently,  and  with  great  impressiveness, 
he  warned  his  flock,  as  simple  people,  lowly,  like  birds 
of  the  air,  hence  dear  to  God,  not  to  listen  to  various 
false  sages,  and  in  general  to  people  blinded  with  Satanic 
pride  who  sow  tares  instead  of  wheat,  or  they  would 
gather  tears  and  sin.  Here,  in  passing,  he  mentioned 
Condillac,  Voltaire,  Eousseau,  and  Ohorovich,  without 


342  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

making  any  distinction  between  them ;  and  at  last  he 
came  to  a  minute  description  of  the  various  unpleas- 
antnesses to  which  the  damned  would  be  exposed  in 
the  next  world.  And  another  spirit  entered  into  Eepa's 
wife ;  for  though  she  did  not  understand  what  Father 
Chyzik  was  saying,  she  thought,  "  He  must  be  speaking 
beautifully,  since  he  shouts  so  that  he  is  all  in  a  sweat, 
and  the  people  are  sighing,  as  if  the  last  breath  were 
going  out  of  them." 

The  sermon  ended  and  mass  continued.  Ei !  Eepa's 
wife  prayed  ;  she  prayed  as  never  before  in  her  life ;  she 
felt  too  that  it  was  easier  and  lighter  at  her  heart. 

Finally  the  solemn  moment  came.  The  canon,  white 
as  a  dove,  brought  out  the  most  holy  sacrament  from 
the  ciborium,  then  turned  to  the  people  and  holding  in 
his  hand  the  monstrance,  which  was  like  the  sun,  hold- 
ing it  there,  with  trembling  hands,  near  his  face,  he 
remained  for  a  while  with  closed  eyes  and  inclined  head, 
as  if  collecting  breath ;  at  last  he  intoned,  "  Before  so 
great  a  sacrament ! " 

The  people  in  a  hundred  voices  roared  in  response 
immediately,  — 

"  We  fall  on  our  faces, 
Let  the  old  law  with  the  testament 
Give  place  to  the  new; 
Faith  will  be  the  supplement 
To  that  which  agrees  not  with  the  senses." 

The  hymn  thundered  till  the  window-panes  rattled; 
the  organ  groaned ;  the  bells  great  and  small  rang ;  before 
the  church  a  drum  thundered;  the  censers  gave  out 
blue  smoke ;  the  sun  entered  in  through  the  window  and 
illuminated  in  rainbow  tints  those  rolls  of  smoke.  In 
the  midst  of  this  noise,  incense,  smoke,  and  sun-rays,  the 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  343 

most  holy  sacrament  glittered  on  high  for  an  instant, 
then  the  priest  lowered  it,  and  again  he  raised  it,  and 
that  white  old  man  with  the  monstrance  seemed  like 
some  heavenly  vision,  half  concealed  by  the  mist  of 
incense,  and  radiant,  from  whom  came  grace  and  con- 
solation which  fell  upon  all  hearts  and  all  pious  souls. 
That  grace  and  that  great  peace  took  under  the  wings  of 
God  the  suffering  soul  of  Repa's  wife  also. 

"  O  Jesus,  concealed  in  the  most  holy  sacrament !  O 
Jesus ! "  cried  the  unhappy  woman,  "  do  not  desert  me, 
unfortunate ! "  And  from  her  eyes  flowed  tears ;  they 
were  not  such  tears  as  she  had  shed  at  the  mayor's,  but 
in  some  sort  pleasant  tears,  though  large  as  Calcutta  pearls, 
yet  sweet  and  peaceful. 

The  woman  fell  before  the  majesty  of  God,  with  her 
face  to  the  floor,  and  then  she  knew  not  what  happened. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  angels  raised  her,  like  a  slender 
leaf,  from  the  earth  and  bore  her  to  heaven,  to  eternal 
happiness,  where  she  saw  neither  Pan  Zolzik,  nor  the 
mayor,  nor  recruiting  lists,  nothing  but  brightness,  and 
in  that  brightness  the  throne  of  God,  around  which  was 
such  glory  that  she  had  to  close  her  eyes,  and  whole  clouds 
of  angels  were  there,  like  birds  with  white  wings. 

Repa's  wife  lay  so  long  that  when  she  rose  mass  was 
over ;  the  church  was  deserted ;  the  incense  had  risen  to 
the  roof ;  the  last  of  the  people  were  at  the  door ;  and  at 
the  altar  an  old  man  was  quenching  the  candles,  —  so 
she  rose  up  and  went  to  the  priest's  house  to  speak  to 
the  curate. 

Father  Chyzik  was  just  eating  dinner ;  but  he  went  out 
at  once,  when  they  told  him  that  some  weeping  woman 
wished  to  see  him.  He  was  still  a  young  man ;  his  face 
was  pale  and  serene ;  he  had  a  white,  lofty  forehead,  and 
a  pleasant  smile. 


344  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

"  What  do  you  wish,  my  woman  ? "  asked  he,  in  a  low, 
but  clear  voice. 

She  seized  his  feet,  and  then  told  him  the  whole  story, 
crying  meanwhile  and  kissing  his  hand ;  at  last,  raising 
to  him  humbly  her  black  eyes,  she  said,  — 

"  Oh,  advice,  benefactor !  advice  !  I  have  come  to  seek 
advice  of  you." 

"  And  you  are  not  mistaken,  my  woman,"  answered 
Father  Chyzik,  mildly.  "  But  I  have  only  one  advice, 
and  it  is  this:  Offer  to  God  all  your  sufferings.  God 
tries  His  faithful.  He  tries  them  as  severely  as  Job, 
whose  wounds  were  licked  by  his  own  dogs,  or  Azarias, 
on  whom  God  sent  blindness.  But  God  knows  what 
He  does,  and  He  will  reward  those  who  are  faithful. 
Consider  the  misfortune  which  has  happened  to  your 
husband  as  a  punishment  for  his  grievous  sin  of  drunk- 
enness, and  thank  God  that  punishing  him  during  life 
He  may  pardon  him  after  death." 

The  woman  looked  at  the  priest  with  her  dark  eyes, 
rose  up  and  went  out  in  silence,  without  saying  one 
word.  But  along  the  road  she  felt  as  though  something 
were  choking  her.  She  wanted  to  cry,  but  she  could 
not. 


CHAPTEE   VII. 

ABOUT  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  on  the  main 
road  between  the  cottages,  gleamed  in  the  distance 
a  blue  parasol,  a  yellow  straw  hat  with  blue  ribbons,  and 
an  almond-colored  dress  trimmed  with  blue;  that  was 
Panna  Yadviga,  who  had  gone  out  to  walk  after  dinner ; 
at  her  side  was  her  cousin,  Pan  Victor. 

Panna  Yadviga  was   what  is  called   a   pretty   young 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  345 

lady ;  she  had  black  hair,  blue  eyes,  a  complexion  like 
milk,  and  besides  wore  a  dress  made  with  wonderful 
care,  neat  and  exquisite ;  light  came  from  it  and  added  to 
her  beauty.  Her  maiden  form  was  outlined  charmingly, 
as  if  floating  along  in  the  air.  In  one  hand  she  held  a 
parasol,  in  the  other  her  dress,  from  under  which  was 
visible  the  edge  of  her  white  petticoat  and  her  shapely, 
small  feet,  enclosed  in  Hungarian  boots. 

Pan  Victor,  who  walked  at  her  side,  though  he  had 
an  immense  curling  forelock  of  light  color,  and  a 
beard  which  he  was  just  letting  out,  looked  also  like  a 
picture. 

This  couple  were  radiant  with  youth,  health,  gladness, 
happiness;  and  besides  there  was  evident  in  both  that 
higher,  holiday  life,  a  life  of  winged  flights,  not  only  in 
the  external  world,  but  in  the  world  of  thought,  the 
world  of  broader  desires,  as  well  as  broader  ideas,  and  at 
times  in  the  golden  and  shining  paths  of  imagination. 

Among  those  cabins,  and  compared  with  children  of 
the  village  peasants,  and  all  that  common  surrounding, 
they  seemed  like  beings  from  another  planet.  It  was 
even  pleasant  to  think  that  there  was  no  bond,  at  least 
no  spiritual  bond,  between  that  splendid,  that  developed 
and  poetical  couple,  and  the  prosaic  life  of  the  village, 
full  of  gray  reality,  and  half  animal. 

They  passed  on,  side  by  side,  and  conversed  of  poetry 
and  literature  as  ordinarily  a  polite  cavalier  and  a  polite 
lady  do.  Those  people  in  homespun,  those  peasants,  those 
women,  did  not  understand  even  their  words  and  their 
language.  It  was  dear  to  think  of  it !  —  confess  that  to 
me.  0  ye  petty  nobility  ! 

In  the  conversation  of  this  splendid  couple  there  was 
nothing  which  had  not  been  heard  a  hundred  times  before. 
They  flitted  from  book  to  book,  as  butterflies  flit  from 


346  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

one  flower  to  another.  But  such  a  conversation  does  not 
seem  empty  and  commonplace  when  one  is  speaking  with 
a  dear  little  soul ;  when  the  conversation  is  simply  the 
canvas  on  which  that  soul  fastens  the  golden  flowers  of 
its  own  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  when,  from  time  to 
time,  its  interior  is  disclosed,  like  the  opening  interior  of 
a  white  rose.  And,  besides,  such  a  conversation  flies  up 
in  every  case,  like  a  bird  in  the  air,  to  cerulean  spheres, 
attaches  itself  to  the  world  of  mind,  and  rises  like  a 
climbing  plant  on  a  pole.  There  in  the  village  inn,  rude 
people  were  drinking  and  talking  in  peasant  words  of 
peasant  things ;  but  that  couple  were  sailing  in  another 
region,  and  on  a  ship  which  had,  as  Gounod's  song 
says,  — 

"  Masts  of  ivory 
With  a  banner  of  satin, 
A  rudder  of  pure  ruddy  gold." 

Moreover,  it  is  proper  to  add  that  Panna  Yadviga  had, 
for  purposes  of  self-training,  turned  the  head  of  her 
cousin.  In  these  conditions  poetry  is  more  frequently 
mentioned. 

"  Have  you  read  the  last  edition  of  Eli  ? "  asked  the 
cavalier. 

"  You  know,  Pan  Victor,  that  I  am  dying  about  Eli. 
When  I  read  him,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  hear  music ;  and 
involuntarily  I  apply  to  myself  that  verse  of  Uyeiski,  — 

"'  I  lie  on  a  cloud, 
Melted  in  calm, 

With  a  dreamy  tear  in  my  eye : 
I  hear  no  breath. 
A  sea  of  violet  odor 
Surrounds  me; 
With  palm  placed  in  palm, 
I  sail  — I  fly  — ' 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  347 

"Ah !"  exclaimed  she,  suddenly,  "if  I  knew  him,  I  am 
sure  that  I  should  be  in  love  with  him.  We  should 
understand  each  other  to  a  certainty." 

"  Happily  he  is  married,"  answered  Pan  Victor,  dryly. 

Panna  Yadviga  inclined  her  head  a  little,  repressed 
a  half  smile  on  her  lips,  till  the  dimples  appeared  in  her 
cheeks,  and,  looking  askance  at  Pan  Victor,  she  inquired,  — 

"  Why  do  you  say,  happily  ? " 

"  Happily  for  all  those  for  whom  life  would  have  no 
attraction  in  the  case  you  have  just  mentioned." 

When  he  said  this,  Pan  Victor  was  very  tragic. 

"  Oh,  you  attribute  too  much  to  me  ! " 

Pan  Victor  passed  into  lyric  poetry,  "You  are  an 
angel  — 

"Oh,  that  is  all  well  enough  —  but  let  us  talk  of 
something  else." 

"  Then  you  do  not  like  Eli  ? " 

"  A  moment  ago  I  began  to  hate  him." 

"  Oh,  you  put  on  ugly  faces !  I  ask  you  to  become 
serene,  and  tell  me  your  favorite  poet." 

"  Sovinski,"  muttered  Pan  Victor,  gloomily. 

"  But  I  simply  fear  him.  Irony,  blood,  fire  —  wild 
outbursts." 

"  Such  things  do  not  terrify  me  at  all,"  said  Pan  Victor ; 
then  he  looked  so  valiant,  that  a  dog,  which  had  run 
out  from  a  cottage,  hid  its  tail  under  its  belly  and 
withdrew  in  fright. 

Now  they  arrived  at  the  house  of  four  tenements ; 
in  the  window  appeared  an  upturned  nose,  a  goatee, 
and  a  bright-green  cravat ;  they  halted  before  a  pretty 
cottage  covered  with  wild  grapevines,  and  looking  with 
its  rear  windows  on  a  pond. 

"  You  see  what  a  nice  little  house  this  is ;  it  is  the  only 
poetical  place  in  Barania-Glova." 


348  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

"  What  house  is  it  ? " 

"  Formerly,  it  was  an  asylum.  Here  village  children 
learned  to  read,  when  their  parents  were  in  the  field. 
Papa  had  this  house  built  purposely." 

"  And  what  is  in  it  now  ? " 

"  Now,  kegs  of  brandy  are  in  it  — 

But  they  did  not  finish  their  thoughts,  for  they  came 
to  a  great  puddle  in  which  lay  a  number  of  pigs,  "  justly 
so-called  for  their  filth."  To  pass  around  that  puddle, 
they  had  to  go  near  Eepa's  cottage;  so  they  turned  in 
that  direction. 

Kepa's  wife  was  sitting  on  a  log  before  the  gate,  with 
her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and  her  chin  on  one  hand. 
Her  face  was  pale,  and,  as  it  were,  turned  to  stone ;  her 
eyes  were  red ;  her  look  dull,  and  fixed  on  the  distance 
without  thought.  She  had  not  even  heard  the  passers-by ; 
but  the  young  woman  saw  her,  and  said,  — 

"  Good-evening ! " 

Marysia  stood  up,  and,  approaching,  seized  the  feet  of 
Panna  Yadviga  and  Pan  Victor,  and  began  to  weep  in 
silence. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  asked  the  young  lady. 

"  Oh,  thou  my  golden  berry,  my  dawn  !  perhaps  God  has 
sent  thee  to  me  !  Take  thou  my  part,  our  consolation  ! " 

Here  the  woman  narrated  the  whole  affair,  interrupt- 
ing the  story  with  kissing  the  young  lady's  hands,  or 
rather  her  gloves,  which  she  stained  with  tears ;  the 
young  lady  became  greatly  confused ;  anxiety  was  clearly 
evident  on  her  pretty,  important  little  face,  and  she 
knew  not  what  to  say;  but  at  last  she  said,  with 
hesitation,  — 

"  What  can  I  advise  you,  my  woman  ?  I  am  very  sorry 
for  you.  Indeed  —  what  can  I  advise  ?  —  go  to  papa  — 
maybe  papa  —  But  farewell." 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

Then  Panna  Yadviga  raised  her  almond-colored  robe 
till  the  stripes  of  her  blue-and- white  stockings  were 
visible  above  her  boots ;  and  she  and  Pan  Victor 
passed  on. 

"•May  God  bless  thee,  most  beautiful  flower ! "  called 
Eepa's  wife,  after  her. 

Panna  Yadviga  grew  sad;  and  it  seemed  to  Pan  Victor 
that  he  saw  tears  in  her  eyes  ;  so,  to  drive  away  sadness, 
he  began  to  talk  of  Krashevski  and  other  smaller  fish  in 
the  literary  sea ;  and  in  that  conversation,  which  became 
gradually  more  lively,  both  of  them  soon  forgot  that 
"  disagreeable  incident." 

"To  the  mansion!"  said  Eepa's  wife,  meanwhile. 
"  And  that  is  where  I  ought  to  have  gone  first.  Ei !  I 
am  a  stupid  woman  ! " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  mansion  had  a  porch  covered  with  grapevines, 
and  a  view  on  the  yard  as  well  as  on  a  road 
lined  with  poplars.  In  summer  Pan  and  Pani  Skora- 
bevski  drank  coffee  on  this  porch  after  dinner.  They 
were  sitting  there  now,  and  with  them  Father  Ulanovski, 
Father  Chyzik,  and  Stolbitski,  the  inspector  of  mines. 
Pan  Skorabevski  was  a  man  of  rather  full  habit,  and 
ruddy,  with  large  mustaches.  He  sat  in  an  armchair, 
smoking  a  pipe ;  Pani  Skorabevski  was  pouring  tea  ;  the 
inspector,  who  was  a  sceptic,  was  jesting  with  the  old 
canon. 

"  Now,  reverend  benefactor,  just  tell  us  of  that  famous 
battle,"  said  he. 

The  canon  put  his  hand  to  his  ear,  and  inquired,  — 

"  Hei  ? " 


350  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

"  Of  the  battle ! "  repeated  the  inspector,  more  distinctly. 

"  Ah  !  of  the  battle  ? "  said  the  canon ;  and,  as  it  were, 
meditating,  he  began  to  whisper  to  himself,  and  to 
gaze  upward  as  though  recalling  something.  The  inspec- 
tor arranged  his  face  ready  for  laughter ;  all  awaited  the 
narrative,  though  they  had  heard  it  a  hundred  times ;  for 
they  always  enticed  the  old  man  to  repeat  it. 

"  Well,"  began  the  canon,  "  I  was  still  a  curate,  and  the 
parish  priest  was  Father  Gladysh  —  I  am  right,  Father 
Gladysh.  It  was  he  who  built  over  the  vestry.  But, 
eternal  light  to  him!  —  well,  once  after  mass,  I  say, 
'  Father  Gladysh  ? '  and  he  asks,  '  What  ? '  'It  seems 
to  me  that  something  will  come  of  this,'  I  say.  And  he 
says,  '  It  seems  to  me,  too,  that  something  will  come  of 
it.'  We  look ;  from  behind  the  wind-mill  come  out  some 
men  on  horses,  some  on  foot,  and  next  banners  and 
cannon.  Then  at  once  I  think  to  myself,  Oh  !  from  the 
opposite  side  I  think,  sheep  are  coming  ?  but  they  are  not 
sheep,  only  cavalry.  The  moment  these  saw  those :  Stop  ! 
and  the  other  side  too  :  Stop  !  The  minute  the  cavalry 
rushed  out  of  the  woods,  these  to  the  right,  those  to  the 
left,  these  to  the  left,  those  after  them.  Then  they  see  : 
Difficult !  then  on  to  them.  When  they  began  to  fire  be- 
yond the  mountain,  something  flashed  again.  '  Do  you 
see,  Father  Gladysh  ? '  I  say,  and  he  says,  '  I  see.'  And 
there  they  were,  just  thundering  from  cannon  and  guns ; 
those  to  the  river,  these  won't  let  them  cross ;  this  that 
one,  that  the  other  one  !  Then  these  for  a  while  have  the 
best,  again  the  others  have.  Eoar !  smoke  !  And  then  to 
the  bayonets  !  All  at  once,  I  think,  these  are  weakening. 
'  Father  Gladysh,'  I  say,  '  those  are  winning  ! '  And  he 
says,  '  It  seems  to  me,  too,  that  they  are  winning.'  The 
words  were  hardly  out  of  my  mouth  when  these  to  their 
legs  !  those  after  them.  Then  drown,  kill,  take  captive, 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.  351 

and  I  think,  '  It  is  finishing  —  But  what  finish  !  that 
- 1  say,  just,  but !  —  " 

Here  the  old  man  waved  his  hand,  and,  settling  himself 
more  deeply  into  the  chair,  fell,  as  it  were,  into  meditation ; 
but  his  head  shook  more  than  usual,  and  his  eyes  stared 
more. 

The  inspector  was  crying  from  laughter. 

"  Father  Benefactor,  who  was  fighting  with  whom ; 
where  was  it,  and  when  ? " 

The  canon  put  his  hand  to  his  ear  and  said,  — 

"Hei?" 

"  I  am  just  dying  from  laughter,"  remarked  the  inspec- 
tor to  Pani  Skorabevski. 

"  Perhaps  a  cigar  ? " 

"  Perhaps  coffee  ?  " 

"  No,  I  cannot,  from  laughter." 

The  Skorabevskis  laughed  through  politeness  toward 
the  inspector,  though  they  had  to  listen  to  that  narrative 
every  Sunday.  The  joyousness  was  general ;  when  it  was 
interrupted  by  a  low,  timid  voice  from  outside  the  porch, 
which  said,  — 

"  May  He  be  praised  ! " 

Pan  Skorabevski  rose  at  once,  passed  along  the  porch, 
and  inquired,  — 

"  But  who  is  there  ? " 

"  It  is  I,  Eepa's  wife  ?  " 

"  Why  ? " 

The  woman  bent  as  low  as  she  could  with  the  child, 
and  seized  his  feet. 

"  I  came  for  salvation,  serene  heir,  and  for  mercy." 

"My  dear  woman  give  me  peace,  even  on  a  Sunday?" 
interrupted  Pan  Skorabevski  with  as  good  faith  as  if  the 
woman  had  been  attacking  him  every  week  day.  "  You 
see,  besides,  that  I  have  guests.  So  I  shall  not  leave  them 
for  you." 


352  CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

"  I  will  wait." 

"  Well,  wait,  then.  Besides,  I  shall  not  be  broken  in 
two." 

Then  Pan  Skorabevski  pushed  his  bulk  back  into  the 
porch;  the  woman  withdrew  to  the  garden  fence,  and 
stood  there  in  humility.  But  she  had  to  wait  long 
enough.  The  lord  and  lady  amused  themselves  with 
conversation  ;  and  to  her  ears  flew  from  time  to  time 
glad  laughter,  which  gripped  her  heart  wonderfully,  for 
she  was  not  inclined  to  laughter,  poor  thing.  Later  Panna 
Yadviga  and  Pan  Victor  came  home  ;  and  all  entered  the 
house.  The  sun  inclined  gradually  to  its  setting.  To 
the  porch  came  out  the  lackey  Yasek,  whom  Pan  Skora- 
bevski always  called  "  one  another,"  and  began  to  lay  the 
table  for  tea.  He  changed  the  cloth,  set  glasses  on  the 
table,  and  put  spoons  into  them  with  a  rattle.  Marysia 
waited  and  waited.  It  came  to  her  head  to  go  back  to  her 
cottage  and  return  later ;  but  she  was  afraid  that  it  might 
be  too  late  then  ;  so  she  sat  down  on  the  grass  near  the 
fence  and  gave  her  breast  to  the  child.  The  child  suckled 
and  went  to  sleep,-  but  with  an  unhealthy  sleep,  for  since 
morning  he  was  weak,  somehow.  She  too  felt  that  heat 
and  cold  ran  through  her  from  foot  to  head. 

At  times  yawning  seized  her;  but  she  did  not  mind 
that,  she  just  waited  patiently.  By  degrees  it  grew 
dark,  and  the  moon  rose  on  the  dome  of  the  sky.  The 
table  was  set  for  tea ;  lamps  were  burning  on  the  porch ; 
but  the  company  did  not  come  out,  for  the  young  lady 
was  playing  on  the  piano. 

Eepa's  wife  repeated  the  "  Angel  of  the  Lord,"  at  the 
paling;  and  then  she  thought  how  Pan  Skorabevski 
would  save  her.  She  did  not  know  well  how ;  she  did  not 
understand  that  he,  from  his  position,  was  acquainted  with 
the  commissioner  and  with  the  chief  of  the  district ;  that 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.  353 

if  he  would  only  say  a  word,  all  would  be  well,  and  with 
God's  help  the  evil  would  be  turned  aside.  Meanwhile  she 
thought  that  if  Zolzik  or  the  mayor  opposed,  he  would 
know  where  to  go  for  justice.  "The  young  lord  has 
always  been  kind  and  good  to  people,"  thought  she,  "  so 
he  will  not  desert  me."  And  she  was  not  mistaken,  for 
Pan  Skorabevski  was  really  a  humane  man.  She  remem- 
bered that  he  had  always  been  kind  to  Eepa ;  further, 
that  her  late  mother  had  nursed  Panna  Yadviga :  so  con- 
solation entered  her  heart.  That  she  had  been  waiting 
already  a  couple  of  hours  seemed  so  natural  that  she 
did  not  stop  to  think  over  it. 

Now  the  company  returned  to  the  porch.  Marysia 
saw  through  the  grapevine  leaves  that  the  young  lady 
was  pouring  tea  from  a  silver  tea-pot,  and,  as  her  mother 
used  to  say,  such  odoriferous  water  that  thou  art  sweet 
the  whole  day  from  it.  All  drank  tea,  conversed  and 
laughed  joyously.  Only  then  did  it  come  to  Marysia's 
head  that  in  the  condition  of  lords  there  is  always  more 
happiness  than  in  that  of  simple  people ;  and  she  herself 
did  not  know  why  the  tears  flowed  again  down  her  face. 
But  those  tears  soon  gave  way  to  another  impression. 
"  One  another  "  brought  out  steaming  dishes ;  and  then 
she  remembered  that  she  was  hungry,  for  she  had  been 
unable  to  take  dinner  into  her  mouth,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing she  had  only  drunk  a  little  milk. 

"  Oh,  if  they  would  give  me  even  bones  to  gnaw  ! " 
and  she  knew  they  would  surely  give,  not  bones  alone ; 
but  she  dared  not  ask  lest  she  might  offend,  and  in- 
trude before  guests;  for  this  Pan  Skorabevski  might 
be  angry. 

At  last  supper  was  over ;  the  inspector  went  away  im- 
mediately ;  half  an  hour  later  the  two  priests  took  their 
places  in  the  mansion  carriage.  Marysia  saw  Pan  Skora- 

23 


354  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

bevski  seat  the  canon ;  then  she  judged  that  the  moment 
had  come,  and  she  drew  near  the  porch. 

The  carriage  moved  away;  Pan  Skorabevski  cried  to 
the  driver,  "If  thou  turn  over  the  carriage  on  the  em- 
bankment, I  will  turn  thee  over !  "  Afterward  he  looked 
at  the  sky  wishing  to  see  what  kind  of  weather  there 
would  be  on  the  morrow,  then  he  noticed  the  white  shift 
of  the  woman  in  the  darkness. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  " 

"  Eepa's  wife." 

"  Ah,  that  is  you  !  Tell  me  quickly  what  is  needed, 
for  it  is  late." 

She  repeated  everything  again ;  he  listened,  puffing  his 
pipe  all  the  time,  and  then  said,  — 

"  My  dear,  I  would  help  you  willingly  if  I  could ;  but 
I  have  promised  myself  not  to  mix  up  in  the  affairs  of 
the  village." 

"  I  know,  serene  heir,"  said  Marysia,  with  a  quivering 
voice ;  "  but  I  thought  that  perhaps  you,  serene  heir,  would 
take  pity  on  me  —  "  Her  voice  broke  on  a  sudden. 

"  All  this  is  very  good,"  answered  Pan  Skorabevski ; 
"but  what  can  I  do  ?  I  cannot  break  my  word  for  you ; 
and  to  the  chief  I  will  not  go  on  your  account,  for  as  it 
is,  he  says  that  I  annoy  him  with  my  own  affairs  all  the 
time.  You  have  your  commune,  and  if  the  commune 
cannot  help  you,  you  know  the  way  to  the  chief  of  the 
district  as  well  as  I  do.  What  did  I  wish  to  say  ?  But 
go  with  God,  my  woman." 

"  The  Lord  reward,"  said  Repa's  wife,  in  a  dull  voice, 
seizing  the  feet  of  the  heir. 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.         355 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

REPA  on  leaving  the  pig-pen  went,  not  straight  to 
his  cottage,  but  to  the  inn.  It  is  known  that  in 
trouble  the  peasant  takes  to  drink.  From  the  inn,  led 
by  the  same  thought  as  his  wife,  he  went  to  Pan  Skora- 
bevski's  and  committed  folly. 

A  man  who  is  not  sober  knows  not  what  he  says. 
So  Eepa  was  stubborn;  and  when  he  heard  the  same 
thing  that  his  wife  had  about  the  principle  of  non-inter- 
vention, he  answered  rudely ;  not  only  did  he  not  under- 
stand that  lofty  diplomatic  principle  because  of  the 
mental  dulness  innate  in  peasants,  but  he  answered 
with  that  rudeness  which  is  also  special  to  them,  and 
was  thrown  out  of  doors. 

When  he  returned  to  the  cottage,  he  told  his  wife  him- 
self, "  I  was  at  the  mansion." 

"  And  thou  didst  receive  nothing." 

He  struck  the  table  with  his  fist,  "  To  set  fire  to  them, 
the  dog  faiths  ! " 

"  Be  quiet,  thou  wretch.  What  did  Pan  Skorabevski 
say  ? " 

"He  sent  me  to  the  chief  of  the  district.  May  he 
be  —  " 

"  That  is  it ;  we  must  go  to  Oslovitsi." 

"  I  will  go  there,"  said  Eepa.  "  I  will  show  him  that 
I  can  do  without  him." 

"Thou  wilt  not  go,  poor  man,  thou  wilt  not  go,  my 
dear ;  but  I  will  go.  Thou  wouldst  drink,  become  inso- 
lent, and  only  increase  the  misfortune." 

Eepa  did  not  wish  to  give  way  at  first ;  but  in  the  after- 


356  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

noon  he  went  to  the  inn  to  drown  the  worm,  next  day 
the  same ;  his  wife  inquired  no  more  about  anything, 
she  left  all  to  the  will  of  God,  and  on  Wednesday  took 
the  child  and  started  for  Oslovitsi. 

The  horse  was  needed  for  field  work,  so  she  went  on 
foot,  and  at  daylight,  for  it  was  fifteen  solid  miles  to 
Oslovitsi.  She  thought  that  perhaps  she  might  meet 
good  people  on  the  road,  who  would  let  her  sit  even  on 
the  side  of  a  wagon ;  but  she  met  no  one.  About  nine 
in  the  morning,  while  sitting  wearied  at  the  edge  of  a 
forest,  she  ate  a  piece  of  bread  and  a  couple  of  eggs 
which  she  had  with  her  in  a  basket ;  then  she  went  on. 
The  sun  began  to  burn ;  so  when  she  met  Hershek,  the 
tenant  of  Lipa,  who  was  taking  geese  to  the  city,  she 
asked  him  to  let  her  sit  in  his  wagon. 

"  With  God,  my  woman,"  said  Hershek  ;  "  but  there  is 
so  much  sand  here  that  the  horse  is  hardly  able  to  draw 
me  alone.  Give  a  zloty  and  I  '11  take  you." 

Then  Marysia  remembered  that  she  had  only  one 
cheski  (three  copecks)  tied  up  in  a  handkerchief.  She 
was  ready  to  give  that  to  the  Jew  and  offered  it ;  but  he 
answered,  — 

"  A  cheski  ?  But  thou  wilt  not  find  a  cheski  on  the 
ground ;  a  cheski  is  money,  keep  it ! " 

So  saying,  he  lashed  his  horse  and  drove  on.  It  became 
hotter  in  the  world,  and  sweat  flowed  in  a  stream  from 
the  woman  ;  but  she  walked  with  all  her  might,  and  an 
hour  later  she  was  entering  Oslovitsi. 

Whoever  knows  geography  properly,  knows  that  a  per- 
son entering  Oslovitsi  from  the  direction  of  Barania-Glova 
must  pass  a  church  built  before  the  Reformation.  In 
this  church  long  ago  there  was  a  miracle-working  image  of 
the  Mother  of  God ;  before  this  church,  to  the  present  time, 
a  whole  street  of  beggars  sit  every  Sunday,  and  call  for 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  857 

alms  in  heaven -piercing  voices.  Since  it  was  a  week-day, 
there  was  only  one  beggar  at  the  paling ;  but  he,  stretch- 
ing from  beneath  his  rags  a  naked  foot  without  toes,  held 
in  his  hand  the  cover  of  a  box  of  shoe-polish,  and  sang : 

"  Holy,  heavenly, 
Angelic  lady !  " 

Seeing  some  one  passing,  he  stopped  singing,  and  pushing 
his  foot  out  still  more,  began  to  cry,  as  if  some  one  were 
flaying  him,  — 

"  Oh,  compassionate  people !  A  poor  cripple  begs 
charity !  May  the  Lord  God,  the  Merciful,  give  you 
every  good  thing  on  earth!" 

When  Kepa's  wife  saw  him,  she  untied  the  handker- 
chief, took  the  cheski,  and  approaching  him  said,  — 

"  Have  you  five  groshes  ? " 

She  wanted  to  give  him  only  one  grosh ;  but  when  the 
beggar  felt  the  six  groshes  in  his  fingers  he  began  to 
abuse  her,  "  You  grudge  a  cheski  to  the  Lord  God,  and 
the  Lord  God  will  grudge  you  assistance.  Go  to  the 
paralysis,  while  I  am  in  good  humor." 

Then  the  woman  said  to  herself,  "  Let  it  be  to  the 
glory  of  God,"  and  went  on.  When  she  came  to  the 
market  square,  she  was  frightened.  It  was  easy  to  find 
Oslovitsi ;  but  to  go  astray  in  Oslovitsi  was  still  easier, 
and  indeed  that  place  was  no  joke.  Go  to  a  new  village, 
and  thou  wilt  have  to  inquire  where  this  or  that  person 
lives ;  but  what  must  it  be  in  a  place  like  Oslovitsi  ! 

"  I  shall  go  astray  here,  as  in  a  forest,"  thought 
Marysia. 

There  was  no  help  for  it  but  to  inquire  of  people.  It 
was  easy  to  inquire  about  the  commissioner ;  but  when 
she  went  to  his  house  she  learned  that  he  had  gone  to 
the  capital.  As  to  the  chief  of  the  district,  they  told  her 


358  CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

that  she  must  look  for  him  at  his  office.  But  where  was 
the  office  ?  Ei  !  stupid,  stupid  woman,  it  is  in  Oslovitsi, 
and  nowhere  else ! 

She  looked  and  looked  in  Oslovitsi  for  the  office  ;  at 
last  she  saw  a  kind  of  palace,  so  big  that  it  was  a  terror, 
and  before  it  numberless  wagons,  carriages,  and  Jewish 
carts.  It  seemed  to  Marysia  that  there  was  some  kind  of 
festival.  "  But  where  here  is  the  office  ? "  asked  she  of 
some  one  in  a  frock-coat,  seizing  him  by  the  leg. 

"  Thou  art  standing  in  front  of  it,  woman." 

She  plucked  up  courage,  and  entered  the  palace.  She 
looked  again.  It  was  full  of  corridors,  on  the  right  a 
door,  on  the  left  a  door,  farther  on  doors  and  doors,  and 
on  each  letters  of  some  kind.  She  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  and,  opening  silently  and  timidly  the  first  door, 
found  herself  in  a  great  room  divided  into  stalls,  like  a 
church.  Behind  one  stall  sat  a  man  in  a  frock-coat  with 
gilt  buttons,  a  pen  over  his  ear ;  before  the  stalls  stood  a 
great  number  of  all  sorts  of  people.  The  men  were  pay- 
ing and  paying,  and  he  of  the  frock-coat  was  smoking  a 
cigarette  and  writing  receipts  which  he  gave  to  the  men. 
Whoever  took  a  receipt  went  out.  Then  Marysia  thought 
that  it  was  needful  to  pay  there,  and  she  was  sorry  for 
her  cheski,  so  she  walked  up  with  great  timidity  to  the 
barrier. 

But  no  one  even  looked  at  her.  She  stood  there,  stood  ; 
about  an  hour  passed,  some  came  in,  others  went  out ; 
the  clock  ticked  behind  the  barrier,  and  still  she  stood 
there.  At  last  the  number  decreased  somehow,  and 
finally  there  was  no  one.  The  official  sat  at  the  table 
and  began  to  write.  Then  she  grew  bold  to  speak,  — 

"  Jesus  Christ  be  praised  !  " 

"  Who  is  there  ? " 

"  Serene  chief  —  " 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  359 

"  This  is  the  money  department." 

"  Serene  chief !  " 

"  This  is  the  money  department,  I  tell  you." 

"  But  where  is  the  chief  ? " 

The  official  pointed  with  his  pen  to  a  door. 

"  There ! " 

She  went  out  again  into  the  corridor.  There  ?  but 
where  ?  There  were  doors  everywhere  without  number ; 
into  which  was  she  to  enter  ?  At  last  she  saw,  among 
the  various  people  who  were  going  hither  and  thither,  a 
peasant  standing  with  a  whip  in  his  hand,  so  she  went 
straight  to  him. 

"  Father." 

"  But  what  do  you  want  ? " 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ? " 

"  From  Lipa  ;  but  why  ?  " 

"  Where  is  the  chief  here  ? " 

"  Do  I  know  ? " 

Then  she  asked  some  one  with  gilt  buttons,  but  not  in 
a  frock-coat,  and  with  holes  in  his  elbows.  He  would 
not  even  listen,  he  merely  answered,  — 

"  I  've  no  time  ! " 

Again  the  woman  went  into  the  first  door  that  she 
came  to ;  she  did  not  see,  poor  thing,  that  there  was  a 
notice,  "  Persons  not  belonging  to  the  service  are  for- 
bidden to  enter."  She  did  not  belong  to  the  service ;  the 
notice  she  did  not  see,  as  is  said. 

The  moment  she  entered  she  saw  an  empty  room, 
under  the  window  a  bench,  on  the  bench  some  one  sitting 
and  dozing.  Farther  on  a  door  to  another  room,  in  which 
she  saw  men  walking,  they  were  in  frock-coats  and  in 
uniforms. 

She  approached  the  man  who  was  dozing  on  the 
bench;  she  had  some  courage  in  his  presence,  for  he 


360  CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 

seemed  a  peasant,  and  on  the  feet  stretched  out  in  front 
of  him  were  boots  with  holes  in  them.  She  pushed 
his  arm. 

He  woke,  looked  at  her,  and  then  shouted,  — 

"  It  is  forbidden  !  " 

The  poor  woman  took  to  her  legs,  and  he  slammed  the 
door  behind  her. 

She  found  herself  for  the  third  time  in  the  corridor. 
She  sat  down  near  some  door,  and,  with  a  patience  truly 
peasant-like,  determined  to  sit  there  even  to  the  end  of 
time.  "  And,  besides,  some  one  may  ask,"  thought  she. 
She  did  not  cry ;  she  just  rubbed  her  eyes,  for  they  were 
itching,  and  she  felt  that  the  whole  corridor,  with  all  its 
doors,  was  beginning  to  whirl  around  her. 

There  were  people  near  her,  one  to  the  right,  another 
to  the  left.  Doors  slam  !  slam  !  and  the  people  were  talk- 
ing one  to  another ;  she  could  hear,  "  Haru !  haru  ! "  just 
as  at  a  fair. 

But  at  last  God  had  pity  on  her.  Out  of  the  door 
near  where  she  sat  came  a  stately  nobleman  whom  she 
had  seen  in  the  church  at  Lipa;  he  stumbled  against 
her,  and  asked, — 

"  Why  are  you  sitting  here,  woman  ?  " 

"  Waiting  for  the  chief." 

"Here  is  the  sheriff,  not  the  chief." 

The  nobleman  pointed  to  a  door  down  the  corridor, 
"  There,  where  the  green  tablet  is.  But  do  not  go  to  him, 
for  he  is  occupied.  Wait  here  ;  he  must  pass." 

And  the  noble  went  on  ;  but  Marysia  looked  after  him 
with  a  glance  such  as  she  would  give  to  her  guardian 
angel.  Still  she  had  to  wait  long  enough.  At  last  the 
door  with  the  green  tablet  opened  with  a  clatter ;  out  of 
it  came  a  military  man  no  longer  young,  and  he  walked 
along  the  corridor  hastening  greatly.  Oi !  you  could 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  361 

know  at  once  that  he  was  the  chief,  for  after  him  flew 
a  number  of  petitioners,  running  up  now  from  the  right, 
now  from  the  left,  and  to  Marysia's  ears  came  the  ex- 
clamations :  "  One  short  word,  lord  chief  ! "  "  Gracious 
chief ! " 

But  he  did  not  listen,  and  went  on.  It  grew  dark  in 
the  woman's  eyes  at  sight  of  him.  "Let  the  will  of 
God  be  done,"  shot  through  her  head  ;  she  rushed  to  the 
middle  of  the  corridor,  and,  kneeling  with  upraised  hands, 
barred  the  way. 

He  saw  her,  and  stopped ;  the  whole  procession 
halted. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  inquired  he. 

"Most  holy  chief!"  And  she  could  go  no  further; 
she  was  so  frightened  that  the  voice  broke  in  her  throat : 
her  tongue  became  a  stake  of  wood. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  oh  !  according  to  the  list  — 

"  What  is  that  ?  Do  they  want  you  in  the  army  ? 
Hei?"  asked  the  chief. 

The  petitioners  immediately  fell  to  laughing  in  a 
chorus,  to  uphold  the  good  humor  of  the  chief ;  but  he 
said  at  once  to  those  courtiers, — 

"  I  pray  you  !  I  pray  you  be  silent !  " 

Then  he  said  impatiently  to  the  woman,  — 

"  More  quickly  !     What  is  it  ?  —  for  I  have  no  time." 

But  she  had  lost  her  head  altogether  from  the  laughter 
of  the  audience,  and  blurted  out  disconnectedly :  "  Burak, 
Repa  !  Repa  !  Burak,  0  ! " 

"  She  must  be  drunk."  said  one  of  those  nearer. 

"  She  left  her  tongue  in  the  cottage,"  added  another. 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  asked  the  chief,  still  more 
impatiently.  "Are  you  drunk,  or  what?" 

"  0  Jesus  !  Mary  !  "  cried  the  woman,  feeling  that  the 


362  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

last  plank  of  salvation  was  going  from  her  hands. 
"Most  sacred  chief — " 

But  he  was  really  very  much  occupied,  for  the  levy 
had  begun  already,  and  there  was  much  business  in  the 
district ;  besides  he  could  not  talk  with  the  woman,  so  he 
waved  his  hand,  and  said,  — 

"  Vodka !  vodka  !  And  the  woman  is  young  and  good- 
looking." 

Then  he  turned  to  her  with  such  a  voice  that  she 
came  near  sinking  through  the  floor,  — 

"  When  thou  art  sober,  lay  the  affair  before  the  com- 
mune, and  let  the  commune  lay  it  before  me." 

He  went  on  hurriedly,  and  the  petitioners  after  him, 
repeating,  "  One  short  word,  lord  chief ! "  "  Gracious 
chief ! " 

The  corridor  was  deserted ;  it  was  silent  there  ;  only 
her  little  boy  began  to  cry.  She  woke  then  as  if  from 
sleep,  stood  up,  raised  the  child,  and  began  to  sing  in  a 
voice  which  seemed  not  her  own. 

She  went  out  of  the  building.  The  sky  was  covered 
with  clouds ;  on  the  horizon  it  was  thundering.  The  air 
was  sultry. 

What  was  taking  place  in  the  woman's  soul,  as  she 
passed  the  old  church  a  second  time  in  returning  to 
Barania-Glova,  I  will  not  undertake  to  describe.  Ah  ! 
if  Panna  Yadviga  had  found  herself  in  a  similar  position, 
I  might  write  a  sensational  novel,  in  which  I  would 
undertake  to  convince  the  most  obdurate  positivist  that 
there  are  ideal  beings  in  this  world  yet.  But  in  Panna 
Yadviga  every  impression  would  have  risen  to  self- 
consciousness  ;  despairing  struggles  of  the  soul  would  have 
expressed  themselves  in  no  less  despairing,  and  there- 
fore very  dramatic,  words  and  thoughts.  That  vicious 
circle,  that  deep  and  painful  feeling  of  helplessness, 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  363 

weakness,  and  overpowering  opposition,  that  role  of  a 
leaf  in  a  storm,  the  dull  knowledge  that  there  is  no 
salvation  from  any  side,  neither  from  earth,  nor  from 
heaven,  would  surely  have  inspired  Panna  Yadviga  with 
a  monologue  no  less  intense  than  the  terror  of  her  posi- 
tion ;  this  I  should  need  merely  to  write  down  to  make  a 
reputation. 

But  Repa's  wife  ?  Peasants  when  they  suffer  merely 
suffer,  nothing  more.  This  woman  in  the  strong  hand  of 
misfortune  was  simply  like  a  bird  tormented  by  a  vicious 
child.  She  went  forward ;  the  wind  drove  her ;  sweat 
flowed  from  her  forehead ;  and  that  was  the  whole  his- 
tory. At  times  when  the  child,  who  was  sick,  opened  his 
mouth  and  began  to  pant,  as  if  ready  to  die,  she  called 
to  him,  "  Yasek,  0  Yasek,  my  heart ! "  And  she  pressed 
her  lips  of  a  mother  to  the  heated  forehead  of  the  little 
one.  She  passed  the  pre-Reformation  church,  and  went 
on  into  the  field,  till  she  stopped  on  a  sudden ;  a  drunken 
peasant  was  coming  toward  her. 

Clouds  were  rolling  on  in  the  sky,  denser  and  denser, 
and  in  them  something  like  a  storm  was  preparing; 
from  time  to  time  there  was  a  flash  of  lightning ;  but  the 
peasant  did  not  inquire,  he  let  his  coat-skirt  to  the 
wind,  pulled  his  cap  over  his  ears,  and  reeled  along, 
now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left,  singing,  — 

"  To  the  garden  went  Dodo, 
He  went  to  buy  parsnips, 
But  I  will  give  Dodo 
A  club  on  the  leg, 
Dodo  will  run  then. 
Uu,  du ! " 

Seeing  Repa's  wife,  he  stopped,  opened  his  eyes,  and 

cried,  — 

"  Oh,  let  us  go  to  the  wheat, 
For  thou  art  a  kind  woman  1  " 


364  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

And  he  tried  to  seize  her  by  the  waist.  Frightened 
for  herself  and  the  child,  she  sprang  to  one  side,  the 
man  after  her ;  but,  being  drunk,  he  fell.  He  rose  at 
once,  it  is  true,  though  he  did  not  pursue  her ;  he  only 
picked  up  a  stohe  and  threw  it  after  the  woman  with 
such  force  that  the  air  whistled. 

She  felt  a  pain  in  her  head ;  it  grew  dark  before  her  at 
once ;  and  she  knelt  down.  She  remembered  only  one 
thing,  "the  child,"  and  began  to  flee  farther.  She 
stopped  under  the  cross,  and,  looking  around,  saw  that 
the  man  was  half  a  verst  distant,  staggering  along  toward 
the  town. 

At  this  moment  she  felt  a  certain  strange  warmth  on 
her  neck ;  she  put  her  hand  there,  and,  looking  at  her 
fingers,  saw  blood. 

It  grew  dark  in  her  eyes;  she  lost  consciousness. 

When  she  recovered,  her  shoulders  were  resting  against 
the  cross ;  in  the  distance  a  carriage  from  Dovborko  was 
approaching,  and  in  it  young  Pan  Dovbor,  with  a  gov- 
erness from  the  mansion. 

Pan  Dovbor  did  not  know  Eepa's  wife ;  but  she  knew 
who  he  was,  she  had  seen  him  at  church ;  she  thought 
then  to  hurry  to  the  carriage  and  beg  him,  for  God's 
mercy,  to  take  even  the  child  before  the  storm  came; 
she  rose  to  her  feet,  but  could  not  advance. 

Meanwhile  the  young  man  had  driven  up ;  and,  seeing 
an  unknown  woman  standing  at  the  cross,  he  called, — 

"  Woman  !  woman  !  take  a  seat," 

"May  the  Lord  God 

"But  on   the  ground,  on   the  ground." 

That  young  Dovbor  was  a  jester  known  in  the  whole 
region  about ;  he  attacked  every  one  on  the  road  in  this 
fashion,  trifled  with  them,  as  in  this  case,  and  then 
drove  on  farther.  His  laughter  and  that  of  the  gov- 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  365 

erness  came  to  the  ears  of  Kepa's  wife;  then  she  saw 
how  they  began  to  kiss,  and  soon  after  they  disappeared 
with  the  carriage  in  the  dark  distance. 

Re  pa's  wife  was  left  alone.  But  it  is  not  in  vain  that 
people  say,  "Women  and  toads  thou  wilt  not  kill,  even 
with  a  scythe."  After  an  hour  or  so  she  dragged  on 
again,  though  the  legs  were  bending  under  her. 

"What  is  the  little  child  guilty  of,  the  golden  fish, 
0  Lord  God ! "  repeated  she,  cuddling  the  sick  Yasek  to 
her  bosom. 

And  then  fever  seized  her,  for  she  began  to  mutter, 
as  if  drunk. 

"  In  the  cottage  is  an  empty  cradle,  and  mine  has  gone 
to  the  war  with  his  gun." 

The  wind  swept  the  cap  from  her  head;  her  beauti- 
ful hair  fell  to  her  shoulders  and  waved  in  the  wind. 
All  at  once  lightning  flashed;  the  thunderbolt  came  so 
near  that  the  smell  of  sulphur  surrounded  her,  and  she 
crouched.  This  brought  her  to  herself,  and  she  cried, 
"  But  the  Word  became  flesh  !  " 

She  looked  at  the  sky,  which  was  storming,  merciless, 
raging,  and  she  began  to  sing  in  a  trembling  voice, 
"  Whoso  puts  himself  under  the  care  !  "  A  certain  om- 
inous, metallic  flash  fell  from  the  clouds  to  the  earth. 
She  went  to  a  forest  at  the  roadside ;  but  there  it  was 
still  darker  and  more  terrible.  From  moment  to  mo- 
ment a  noise  was  heard,  as  if  the  terrified  trees  were 
whispering  to  one  another  in  an  immense  whisper, 
"What  will  happen!  Oh!  for  God's  sake!"  Then 
came  silence.  Again  from  the  forest  depth  was  heard 
some  voice.  Shudders  passed  through  the  woman;  she 
thought  that  perhaps  the  "evil  one"  was  laughing  at 
the  wood  devils,  or  perhaps  the  host  would  pass  by  in 
a  terrible  dance  at  any  moment. 


366  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

"  If  only  out  of  the  forest,  if  only  out  of  the  forest ! " 
thought  she ;  "  and  there  ahead  beyond  the  forest  is  the 
mill  and  the  cabin  of  Yagodzinski's  miller."  She  ran  on 
with  the  last  of  her  strength,  catching  at  the  air  with 
parched  lips.  Meanwhile  the  sluices  of  heaven  were 
opened  above  her  head ;  rain,  mixed  with  hail,  fell  as 
if  from  a  bucket ;  the  wind  struck,  and  with  such  force 
that  the  trees  were  bent  to  the  earth;  the  forest  was 
filled  with  mist,  with  steam,  with  waves  of  rain;  the 
road  was  not  to  be  seen ;  trees  were  bending  along  the 
earth  and  roaring  and  splitting ;  around  was  the  break- 
ing of  limbs,  and  then  came  darkness. 

The  woman  felt  weak.  "  Save  me,  O  people ! "  cried 
she,  in  a  faint  voice ;  but  no  one  could  hear  her.  The 
wind  blew  the  voice  back  into  her  throat.  Then  she 
understood  that  she  could  not  go  farther. 

She  took  off  her  head-kerchief,  her  apron,  stripped  her- 
self almost  to  her  shift,  and  wrapped  up  the  child ;  then, 
seeing  a  weeping  birch  near,  she  crawled  to  it  almost  on 
her  hands  and  knees,  and,  putting  down  the  child  under 
the  branches,  fell  herself  by  his  side. 

"  0  God,  receive  my  soul ! "  cried  she,  and  she  closed 
her  eyes. 

The  storm  raged  for  some  time  yet,  and  at  last  fell 
away.  But  night  had  come ;  through  the  intervals  be- 
tween the  clouds  the  stars  began  to  shine.  Under  the 
birch  was  the  white,  motionless  form  of  the  woman. 

"  Now ! "  said  some  voice  in  the  darkness.  After  a 
while  the  noise  of  a  wagon  and  the  splashing  of  horses' 
feet  in  the  pools  was  heard  at  a  distance. 

This  was  Hershek,  the  cow  farmer  of  Lipa,  who  had 
sold  his  geese  in  Oslovitsi,  and  was  coming  home.  See- 
ing Repa's  wife,  he  came  down  from  his  wagon. 


CHARCOAL  SKETCHES.         367 
CHAPTEE  X. 

THE  VICTOEY   OF   GENIUS. 

T  TEESHEK  took  the  woman  from  under  the  birch, 
JL  1  and  would  have  taken  her  to  Barania-Glova ;  but 
on  the  road  he  met  Eepa,  who,  seeing  that  a  storm  was 
coming,  took  his  wagon  and  went  to  meet  his  wife.  She 
lay  all  night  and  the  next  day  in  bed ;  but  the  following 
day  she  got  up,  for  the  little  boy  was  sick.  Her  gossips 
came  and  incensed  the  child  with  consecrated  garlands ; 
and  then  old  Tsisova,  the  blacksmith's  wife,  conjured  the 
disease  with  a  sieve  in  her  hands  and  a  black  hen.  In 
fact,  it  helped  the  child  immediately;  but  the  trouble 
was  greater  with  Eepa,  who  filled  himself  with  vodka 
beyond  measure ;  it  was  not  possible  to  agree  with  him 
on  any  point. 

Strange  thing,  when  Marysia  came  to  herself  and  in- 
quired for  the  child,  instead  of  showing  her  tenderness, 
he  said  gloomily,  — 

"  Thou  wilt  fly  through  towns,  and  the  devil  will  take 
the  child.  I  would  have  given  it  thee,  hadst  thou  lost 
him ! "  Only  then  did  the  woman  feel  great  pain,  at 
such  ingratitude,  and  with  a  voice  straight  from  the 
heart  she  tried  to  reproach  him ;  but  she  could  go  no 
further  than  to  cry  out,  "  Vavron  ! " 

And  she  looked  at  him  through  her  tears.  Eepa 
almost  sprang  from  the  trunk  on  which  he  was  sitting. 
For  a  time  he  was  silent,  and  then  said,  in  a  changed 
voice,  "  My  Marysia,  forgive  me  those  words,  for  I  see 
that  I  have  wronged  thee."  Then  he  roared  with  a  great 
voice,  and  began  to  kiss  her  feet ;  and  she  accompanied 
him  with  tears.  He  felt  that  he  was  not  worthy  of 


368  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

such  a  wife.  But  that  concord  did  not  last  long.  The 
grief,  which  was  festering  like  a  wound,  began  at  once 
to  inflame  them  against  each  other.  When  Eepa 
came  home,  either  drunk  or  sober,  he  did  not  speak  a 
word  to  his  wife,  but  sat  on  the  box  and  looked  at  the 
ground  with  a  wolfish  face.  He  would  sit  that  way 
whole  hours,  as  if  turned  into  stone.  The  woman  was 
busy  around  the  room,  worked  as  before,  but  was  silent 
also.  Later,  when  one  wished  to  speak  to  the  other,  it 
was  somehow  awkward.  So  they  lived  as  if  in  great 
feeling  of  offence,  and  deathlike  silence  reigned  in  the 
cottage.  And  what  had  they  to  say,  since  both  knew 
that  there  was  no  help  for  them,  that  their  fortune  had 
ended  ?  After  a  number  of  days,  some  evil  thoughts 
began  to  come  to  the  man's  head.  He  went  to  confes- 
sion to  Father  Chyzik ;  the  priest  would  not  give  him 
absolution,  and  commanded  him  to  come  next  day ;  but 
on  the  morrow,  Repa,  instead  of  going  to  the  church, 
went  to  the  inn. 

People  heard  him  say,  when  drunk,  that  if  the  Lord 
God  would  not  help  him,  he  would  sell  his  soul  to  the 
devil;  and  they  began  to  shun  him.  A  curse,  as  it 
were,  was  hanging  over  the  cottage.  People  scattered 
reports  sharp  as  beggars'  whips,  and  said  that  the  mayor 
and  the  secretary  did  well,  for  such  a  rascal  would  bring 
only  God's  vengeance  on  all  Barania-Glova.  And  against 
the  woman  old  gossips  began  to  say  uncreated  things. 

It  came  about  that  Eepa's  well  dried  up.  So  Marysia 
went  for  water  to  the  well  in  front  of  the  inn ;  and  on  the 
way  she  heard  boys  say  to  one  another,  "  There  goes  the 
soldier's  wife!"  "Not  the  soldier's  wife,  but  the  devil's 
wife ! " 

She  went  on  without  speaking  a  word ;  but  she  saw 
how  they  made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  She  took  the  jug 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  369 

to  go  home,  and  there,  before  the  inn,  stood  Shmul. 
When  he  saw  her,  he  took  out  the  porcelain  pipe  which 
hung  at  his  beard,  and  called  to  her. 

"  Marysia ! " 

She  stopped  and  inquired,  "  What  do  you  want  ? " 

"  Wrere  you  at  the  village  court  ? "  asked  he. 

"  I  was." 

"  You  were  with  the  priest  ? " 

"I  was." 

"  Were  you  at  the  mansion  ? " 

"  I  was." 

"  Did  you  go  to  the  chief  ? " 

"  I  did." 

"  And  you  got  nothing  ? " 

She  merely  sighed,  and  Shmul  continued,  — 

"Well,  you  are  such  fools  that  in  all  Barania-Glova 
there  is  nothing  more  foolish.  And  what  did  you  go 
for  ? " 

"  Where  was  I  to  go  ? " 

"  Where  ? "  answered  the  Jew,  "  and  on  what  is  the 
contract?  On  paper;  if  there  is  no  paper,  there  is  no 
contract;  tear  the  paper,  and  that  is  enough." 

"  Oh,  how  you  talk  ! "  said  she,  "  if  I  could  have  got 
at  that  paper  I  should  have  torn  it  long  ago." 

"  But  don't  you  know  that  the  secretary  has  the  paper  ? 
Well !  I  know  that  you  can  do  much  with  him ;  he  said 
to  me  himself,  '  Let  Eepa's  wife  come  and  ask  me,  and  I,' 
said  he,  '  will  tear  the  paper,  and  that 's  the  end  of  it.' " 

Marysia  said  nothing,  but  took  the  jug  by  the  ear  and 
went  toward  the  brick  house  ;  meanwhile  it  had  grown 
dark  out  of  doors. 


24 


370         CHARCOAL  SKETCHES. 


CHAPTEE  XL 

ENDED    MISFORTUNE. 

THE  Great  Bear  had  gone  down  already,  and  the 
triangle  had  risen,  when  the  door  squeaked  in 
Eepa's  cottage;  his  wife  came  in  quietly.  She  entered 
and  stood  as  if  fixed  to  the  floor,  for  she  thought  that  her 
husband  would  be  sleeping  as  usual  in  the  inn ;  but  he 
was  sitting  on  the  box  at  the  wall,  with  his  fists  resting 
on  his  knees,  and  looking  at  the  floor.  The  coals  were 
burning  out  in  the  chimney. 

"  Where  hast  thou  been  ? "  inquired  Eepa,  gloomily. 

Instead  of  answering,  she  fell  on  the  floor,  and  lay  be- 
fore his  feet,  with  great  weeping  and  sobbing.  "  Vavron  ! 
Vavron  ! "  cried  she,  "  for  thee  it  was  that  I  yielded  my- 
self to  shame.  He  deceived  me,  then  abused  and  put  me 
out.  Vavron,  have  pity  on  me,  at  least  thou,  my  heart ! 
Vavron  !  Vavron  ! " 

Eepa  took  his  axe  out  of  the  box. 

"  No,"  said  he,  with  a  calm  voice ;  "  thy  end  has  come 
at  last,  poor  woman.  Take  leave  of  this  world  now,  for 
thou  shalt  see  it  no  more ;  thou  wilt  not  sit  in  the  cot- 
tage any  longer,  poor  woman ;  thou  wilt  lie  in  the  church- 
yard-" 

She  looked  at  him  with  terror. 

"  Dost  wish  to  kill  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  Marysia,"  said  he,  "  do  not  lose  time  for  nothing ; 
make  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  then  will  be  the  end; 
thou  wilt  not  even  feel  it,  poor  thing." 

"  Vavron,  wilt  thou,  indeed  ?  " 


CHARCOAL   SKETCHES.  371 

"  Lay  thy  head  on  the  box." 

"  Vavron  ! " 

"  Lay  thy  head  on  the  box  ! "  cried  he,  with  foam  on 
his  lips. 

"  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  save  me  !     People  !  sa  —  " 

A  dull  blow  was  heard,  then  a  groan,  and  the  blow  of 
a  head  against  the  floor ;  then  a  second  blow,  a  fainter 
groan ;  then  a  third,  a  fourth,  a  fifth,  and  a  sixth  blow. 
On  the  floor  gushed  a  stream  of  blood ;  the  coals  in  the 
chimney  were  quenched.  A  quiver  passed  through  the 
woman  from  head  to  foot ;  then  her  body  stretched,  and 
was  motionless. 

Soon  after  a  broad,  bloody  conflagration  rent  the  dark- 
ness ;  the  buildings  of  the  mansion  were  blazing. 


EPILOGUE. 

AND  now  I  will  whisper  something  in  your  ear,  reader. 
They  would  not  have  taken  Repa  to  the  army.  An 
agreement  like  the  one  in  the  inn  was  not  sufficient.  But 
you  see  peasants  do  not  know  these  things  ;  the  "  intelli- 
gence," thanks  to  neutrality  also,  not  much  !  therefore  Pan 
Zolzik,  who  knew  a  little  of  this,  calculated  that  in  every 
case  the  affair  would  drag  on,  and  fear  would  throw  the 
woman  into  his  arms. 

And  that  great  man  was  not  mistaken.  You  ask  what 
happened  to  him  ?  Repa,  when  he  had  set  fire  to  the 
buildings  of  the  mansion,  was  going  to  take  vengeance  on 
him,  but  at  the  cry  of  "  Fire ! "  the  whole  village  was  up, 
and  Zolzik  escaped. 

He  continues  in  his  office  of  secretary  in  Barania-Glova, 
and  at  present  he  has  the  hope  of  being  chosen  judge. 


372  CHARCOAL   SKETCHES. 

He  has  just  finished  reading  "  Barbara  Ubryk,"  and  hopes 
that  Pauna  Yadviga  may  press  his  hand  any  day  under 
the  table. 

Whether  those  hopes  of  the  judgeship  and  the  pressure 
will  be  justified,  the  future  will  show. 


THE   ORGANIST   OF   PONIKLA. 


THE   ORGANIST   OF   PONIKLA. 

THE  snow  was  dry,  squeaking,  and  not  over  deep; 
but  Klen  had  long  legs,  therefore  he  walked  briskly 
over  the  road  from  Zagrabie  to  Ponikla.  He  went  the 
more  briskly  because  a  good  frost  was  coming,  and  he 
was  dressed  scantily  in  a  short  coat  and  a  still  shorter 
sheepskin  overcoat  above  it,  in  black  trousers  and  thin, 
patched  boots.  Besides,  he  had  a  hautboy  in  his  hand  ;  on 
his  head  a  cap  lined  with  the  wind ;  in  his  stomach  a 
couple  of  glasses  of  arrack  ;  in  his  heart  delight ;  and  in 
his  soul  many  causes  for  the  delight. 

That  morning  he  had  signed  a  contract  with  Canon 
Krayevski,  as  the  future  organist  of  Ponikla,  Up  to 
that  time  he  had  strolled  about  like  any  wretched  gypsy, 
from  inn  to  inn,  from  wedding  to  wedding,  from  fair  to 
fair,  from  festival  to  festival,  seeking  profit  with  his  haut- 
boy, or  on  the  organ,  which  he  played  better  than  any 
organist  in  that  region.  Now  he  was  to  settle  down  at 
last  and  have  a  fixed  life  beneath  his  own  roof.  A  house, 
a  garden,  a  hundred  and  fifty  rubles  a  year,  other  earnings 
on  occasions,  a  personal  position,  almost  half  spiritual,  an 
occupation  in  the  service  of  God,  —  who  would  not  re- 
spect such  a  station  ? 

Not  long  since  any  Matsek  in  Zagrabie,  or  Ponikla,  if 
settled  on  a  few  morgs  of  land,  looked  on  Pan  Klen  as 
a  nobody;  now  people  would  take  off  their  hats  to  him. 
An  organist  and,  moreover,  in  such  an  immense  parish 


376  THE   ORGANIST   OF   PONIKLA. 

—  that  was  not  a  bundle  of  straw !  Klen  had  been 
sighing  this  long  time  for  that  position ;  but  while  old 
Melnitski  lived,  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  The  old 
man's  fingers  were  stiff,  and  he  played  badly  ;  but  the 
canon  would  not  send  him  away  for  anything,  since  he 
had  been  twenty  years  with  him. 

But  when  the  "  lysa  "  struck  the  old  man  so  badly  in 
the  pit  of  the  heart  that  in  three  days  he  died,  Pan  Klen 
did  not  hesitate  to  ask  for  the  position,  and  the  canon  did 
not  hesitate  to  give  it,  for  a  better  organist  could  not  be 
found  in  that  region. 

How  such  skill  came  to  Pan  Klen  on  the  hautboy,  the 
organ,  and  various  other  instruments  which  he  under- 
stood, it  was  difficult  to  discover.  He  had  not  received 
the  gift  from  his  father,  for  his  father,  a  man  of 
Zagrabie,  served  during  youth  in  the  army,  and  did  not 
work  in  his  old  age  at  music;  he  twisted  hemp  ropes, 
and  played  on  no  instrument  beyond  a  tobacco-pipe, 
which  was  always  between  his  mustaches. 

From  childhood  Klen  did  nothing  but  listen  wherever 
there  was  music.  While  a  stripling,  he  went  to  "blow 
the  bellows  "  for  Melnitski  at  Ponikla.  Afterward,  when 
certain  musicians  came  to  Zagrabie,  he  ran  away  with 
them.  He  strolled  about  whole  years  with  that  company. 
God  knows  where  he  played,  surely  wherever  it  happened : 
at  fairs,  weddings,  and  in  churches ;  only  when  the  com- 
pany broke  up,  or  died,  did  he  return  to  Zagrabie,  as  poor 
as  a  church  mouse,  haggard,  and  living  like  a  bird  on  a 
branch.  He  continued  to  play,  sometimes  for  the  public, 
sometimes  for  the  Lord  God. 

And,  though  people  reproached  him  with  want  of  sta- 
bility, he  became  famous.  They  said  of  him  in  Zagrabie 
and  in  Ponikla,  "  Klen,  just  Klen.  But  when  he  begins 
to  play  it  is  no  offence  to  the  Lord,  and  it  is  a  delight  to 


THE   ORGANIST   OF   PONIKLA  377 

man  ! "     Others  said  to  him,  "  Fear  God,  Pan  Klen,  what 
devil  is  sitting  within  thee  ?  " 

And  in  real  fact  some  sort  of  devil  was  sitting  in  that 
thin  wretch  with  long  legs.  During  the  life  of  Melnitski, 
whenever  he  took  the  old  organist's  place  on  great  holi- 
days and  festivals,  he  sometimes  forgot  himself  thoroughly 
at  the  organ.  This  would  happen,  especially  in  the 
middle  of  mass,  when  people  in  the  church  were  ab- 
sorbed in  prayer,  when  the  censers  had  sent  incense 
over  the  whole  nave,  and  everything  living  was  singing, 
when  Klen  had  let  himself  out,  and  the  service,  with  the 
ringing  of  great  and  little  bells,  with  the  odor  of  myrrh, 
amber,  and  fragrant  plants,  with  the  gleaming  of  lights 
and  the  glitter  of  the  monstrance,  had  so  elevated  every 
.soul  that  the  whole  church  seemed  flying  off  on  wings  to 
the  sky.  The  canon,  now  raising,  now  lowering  the 
monstrance,  closed  his  eyes  in  ecstasy,  and  Pan  Klen  did 
the  same  in  the  choir;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
organ  itself  was  playing ;  that  voices  from  the  tin  pipes 
rose  like  waves,  flowed  like  rivers,  rushed  like  torrents, 
gushed  like  fountains,  poured  like  rain ;  that  they  were 
filling  the  whole  church ;  that  they  were  under  the  dome, 
and  before  the  altar,  in  the  rolls  of  incense,  in  the  light 
of  the  sun,  and  in  the  souls  of  the  people,  —  some  awful 
and  majestic  like  thunder,  others  like  the  singing  of 
people,  speaking  in  living  words,  still  others  sweet,  fine, 
like  falling  beads,  or  the  trilling  of  nightingales.  And 
after  mass,  Pan  Klen  came  down  from  the  choir  dazed, 
with  eyes  staring,  as  if  after  sleep;  but  as  a  simple 
man,  he  said,  and  thought,  that  he  had  tired  him-: 
self  out.  The  canon  in  the  sacristy  put  some  money  in 
his  hand,  and  some  praise  in  his  ear ;  then  he  went  out 
among  the  people,  who  were  thronged  around  the  church ; 
and  there  they  raised  their  hats  to  him,  though  he 


378  THE   ORGANIST   OF  PONIKLA 

lived  as  a  lodger  in  Zagrabie;  and  they  admired  him 
beyond  measure. 

But  Pan  Klen  went  in  front  of  the  church  not  to  hear, 
"  Hei !  See  !  There  goes  Klen ! "  But  he  went  to  see 
that  which  was  dearest  to  him  in  Zagrabie,  in  Ponikla, 
and  in  the  whole  world,  Panna  Olka,  the  daughter  of  the 
tile-maker  of  Zagrabie.  She  fastened  into  his  heart  like 
a  wood-tick,  with  her  eyes,  which  were  like  star-thistles, 
with  her  bright  face,  and  her  lips  red  as  cherries. 

Pan  Klen  himself,  during  the  rare  moments  in  which 
he  looked  on  this  world  with  sound  judgment,  and  in 
which  seeing  that  the  tile-maker  would  not  give  him  his 
daughter,  thought  that  it  would  be  better  to  let  her  go ; 
but  he  felt,  with  terror,  that  he  could  not  let  her  go  ; 
and  with  great  alarm  he  repeated  to  himself,  "  Hei !  she 
has  got  in  !  Thou  wilt  not  pull  her  out  with  pincers  ! " 

For  her  it  was  surely  that  he  stopped  wandering  about, 
for  her  he  lived ;  and  when  he  played  on  the  organ  he 
thought  that  she  was  listening,  and  therefore  he  played 
better. 

And  she  loving,  to  begin  with,  his  "  talent "  for  music, 
loved  him  afterward  for  himself;  and  that  Pan  Klen 
was  for  her  the  dearest  of  all,  though  he  had  a  strange, 
dark  face,  eyes  that  were  looking  somewhere  else,  a  scant 
coat,  a  still  scanter  overcoat,  and  legs  as  long  and  as 
slim  as  the  legs  of  a  stork. 

But  "  the  father,"  the  tile-maker,  though  he,  too,  carried 
air  in  his  pockets  for  the  most  part,  was  unwilling  to 
give  Olka  to  Klen.  "  Any  one  will  look  at  the  girl,"  said 
he  ;  "  why  should  such  a  fellow  as  Klen  fix  her  fate  ? " 
and  he  hardly  let  the  man  into  the  house,  and  sometimes 
he  would  not  let  him  in. 

But  when  old  Melnitski  died,  everything  changed  right 
away. 


THE   ORGANIST   OF   PONIKLA.  379 

Klen,  after  signing  the  contract,  went  with  all  speed 
to  the  tile-maker's. 

"  I  do  not  say,"  said  the  tile-maker  to  him,  "  that  some- 
thing must  surely  happen  right  away;  but  an  organist 
is  not  a  tramp."  And,  inviting  him  into  the  house,  he 
treated  him  to  arrack,  and  feasted  him  as  a  guest.  And 
when  Olka  came  in,  the  father  rejoiced  with  the  young 
people  because  Klen  had  become  a  man ;  he  would  have 
his  house,  garden,  and,  next  to  the  canon,  would  be  the 
great  person  in  Ponikla. 

So  Klen  had  sat  with  them  from  midday  till  evening, 
to  his  own  great  delight  and  to  Olka's ;  and  now  he  was 
returning  by  the  road  to  Ponikla,  on  squeaking  snow 
and  in  twilight. 

It  was  preparing  for  frost ;  but  what  cared  Pan  Klen  ? 
He  merely  went  faster  and  faster ;  and,  while  going,  he 
thought  of  that  day,  thought  of  Olka,  and  he  was  warm. 
A  happier  day  in  his  life  there  had  never  been. 

After  an  empty,  treeless  road,  through  frozen  meadows 
covered  with  snow,  now  red  and  now  blue  beneath  the 
sky,  he  carried  his  gladness  like  a  lantern  which  he  had 
to  light  him  in  the  dark.  He  remembered  again  and 
again  all  that  had  happened :  his  conversation  with 
the  canon  ;  the  signing  of  the  contract ;  every  word  with 
the  tile-maker  and  Panna  Olka.  When  they  were  alone 
for  a  while  she  said  to  him,  "  It  was  all  one  to  me !  I 
would  have  gone  with  you,  Anton,  without  that,  even  be- 
yond the  sea ;  but  for  father  it  is  better  in  this  way ! " 
He  kissed  her  on  the  elbow  with  great  gratitude,  saying, 
"  God  reward  thee,  Olka,  for  the  ages  of  ages,  amen ! " 
And  now,  when  he  recalled  it,  he  was  a  little  ashamed 
of  himself,  for  having  kissed  her  on  the  elbow,  and 
for  having  said  too  little  to  her;  for  he  felt  that  if 
the  tile-maker  would  have  permitted,  she  would  have 


380  THE   ORGANIST   OF  PONIKLA. 

gone  with  him  to  the  edge  of  the  world.  Such  an  honest 
girl !  And  then  she  would  have  gone  with  him  if  neces- 
sary along  that  empty  road  in  the  snow.  "  Oh,  thou,  my 
pure  gold  ! "  thought  Pan  Klen,  "  since  it  is  so,  thou  wilt 
be  a  lady."  Then  he  went  still  more  swiftly,  and  the 
snow  squeaked  more  loudly. 

Soon  he  began  to  think,  "  Such  a  woman  will  not 
deceive  a  man."  Then  great  gratitude  mastered  him. 
And  indeed  if  Olka  had  been  there  with  him,  he  would 
not  have  held  out ;  he  would  have  thrown  his  hautboy 
on  the  ground,  and  pressed  her  to  his  bosom  with  all 
the  strength  in  his  bones.  He  ought  not  to  have  acted 
differently  an  hour  earlier ;  but  it  is  always  so :  wherever 
a  man  has  to  do  anything  or  say  anything  from  the  heart, 
he  "becomes  a  fool,  and  has  a  wooden  tongue."  It  is 
easier  to  play  on  the  organ. 

Meanwhile,  the  golden  and  red  stripes  which  were 
shining  on  the  western  sky  changed  gradually  into 
golden  ribbons  and  golden  knots,  and  finally  they  van- 
ished. Darkness  came ;  and  the  stars  twinkled  in  the 
heavens,  looking  sharply  and  dryly  on  the  earth,  as  is 
usual  in  winter.  The  frost  grew  severe,  and  began  to 
bite  the  ears  of  the  future  organist  of  Ponikla ;  so,  know- 
ing the  road  perfectly,  Pan  Klen  decided  to  cut  across 
the  field,  and  reach  his  own  house  the  more  quickly. 

After  a  while  he  seemed  black  on  the  level,  snowy  ex- 
panse,— tall,  sticking  up  ridiculously.  It  occurred  to  him 
that  to  kill  time  he  might  play  a  little  before  his  fingers 
got  stiff;  and  as  he  thought  so  he  did.  His  voice  sounded 
strangely  in  the  night  and  on  that  waste,  as  if  he  were 
frightened  a  little  by  that  white,  melancholy  plain ;  and 
it  sounded  all  the  more  strangely  that  Klen  played  the 
most  joyous  things.  He  recollected  that  he  had  begun 
to  play  and  sing,  after  one  and  another  glass  at  the  tile- 


THE   ORGANIST   OF  PONIKLA.  381 

maker's,  that  Olka  accompanied  him  gladly  with  her 
thin  little  voice.  He  wished  now  to  play  those  same 
songs,  so  he  began  with  that  with  which  she  had  begun : 

"  Level,  O  God,  the  mountains  with  the  valleys, 
Let  them  be  very  level ! 
Bring,  O  God,  my  love, 
Bring  him  early !  " 

But  the  song  did  not  please  the  tile-maker,  for  it  seemed 
to  him  a  "  peasant  song,"  and  he  commanded  Kleii  to 
sing  a  "  noble  song."  Then  they  took  up  another,  which 
Olka  had  learned  in  Zagrabie  :  — 

"  Pan  Ludwig  went  a  hunting, 
He  left  Helunia  like  a  picture. 
Pan  Ludwig  came  home,  the  music  was  playing. 
The  trumpeters  trumpeting,  Helunia  was  sleeping." 

This  was  more  to  the  taste  of  the  tile-maker.  But  when 
pleasure  seized  them  they  laughed  most  at  the  "  Green 
Pitcher."  The  lady  in  that  song,  before  she  laughed  at 
the  end,  cried  and  sang  piteously  for  her  broken  pitcher : 

"  My  green  pitcher, 
Oh,  the  Pan  broke  it !  " 

But  the  Pan  falls  to  consoling  her  :  — 

"  Quiet,  Panna,  weep  not, 
I  will  pay  thee  for  thy  pitcher !  " 

Olka  prolonged  as  much  as  possible,  "  My  gre-e-e-en 
pitcher,"  and  then  laughed.  Klen  took  his  lips  from 
the  hautboy,  and  answered  her  as  the  Pan,  with  a  great 

flourish :  — 

"  Quiet,  Panna,  weep  not  — 

And  now,  remembering  in  the  night  that  gladness  of 
the  daytime,  he  played  to  himself  "  My  Green  Pitcher," 
and  smiled  in  addition,  as  much  as  his  lips  would  allow, 


382  THE   ORGANIST  OF  PONIKLA. 

employed  as  they  were  in  blowing  the  hautboy.  But 
as  the  frost  was  violent,  and  his  lip  were  freezing  to 
the  mouthpiece  of  the  instrument,  and  his  fingers  were 
stiff  going  over  the  keys,  he  ceased  to  play  and  went  on, 
somewhat  panting,  and  with  his  face  in  a  mist  which 
rose  from  his  breath. 

After  a  time  he  got  tired,  for  he  had  not  counted  on 
this,  that  in  fields  snow  lies  more  deeply  than  on  a 
beaten  road,  and  that  it  is  not  easy  to  draw  one's  legs 
out  of  it.  Besides,  in  meadows  in  some  places  there  are 
hollows,  made  even  by  drifts  through  which  one  must 
wade  to  the  knee.  Klen  began  to  regret  then  that  he 
had  left  the  road,  for  some  wagon  might  have  come  along 
on  the  way  to  Ponikla. 

The  stars  twinkled  more  and  more  sharply ;  the  frost 
became  more  severe,  but  Pan  Klen  even  sweated ;  still, 
when  the  wind  rose  at  moments,  and  blew  toward  the 
river,  he  became  very  cold.  He  tried  to  play  again,  but 
as  he  had  to  keep  his  mouth  closed  he  tortured  himself 
all  the  more. 

At  last  a  feeling  of  loneliness  seized  him.  Eound 
about  it  was  so  empty,  silent,  and  remote  that  he  was 
wonder-stricken.  In  Ponikla  a  warm  house  was  waiting 
for  him ;  but  he  preferred  to  think  of  Zagrabie,  and  said 
to  himself,  "  Olka  is  going  to  sleep ;  but  there,  praise  be 
to  God,  it  is  warm  in  the  house."  And  at  the  thought 
that  it  was  warm  and  bright  there  for  Olka,  Pan  Klen's 
honest  heart  rejoiced  all  the  more,  the  colder  and  darker 
the  way  was  for  him. 

The  meadows  ended  at  last,  and  then  began  pastures 
grown  over  here  and  there  with  juniper.  Pan  Klen  was 
so  tired  now  that  a  great  desire  seized  him  to  sit  down, 
with  his  hautboy,  under  the  first  sheltered  bush,  and  rest. 
"  But  I  shall  freeze  if  I  do  so,"  thought  he,  and  went  on. 


THE   ORGANIST   OF   PONIKLA.  383 

Unfortunately,  among  junipers,  as  along  fences,  snow- 
drifts form  sometimes.  Klen  passed  through  a  number 
of  these,  and  became  so  exhausted  that  finally  he  said  to 
himself,  — - 

"I  will  sit  down.  Unless  I  fall  asleep  I  shall  not 
freeze ;  and  to  keep  from  sleeping,  I  will  play  again,  '  My 
Green  Pitcher.' " 

He  sat  down,  played  again,  again  the  vanishing  voice 
of  the  hautboy  was  heard  in  the  silence  of  night,  and 
over  the  snow.  But  Klen's  eyelids  stuck  together  more 
and  more,  and  the  notes  of  the  "  Green  Pitcher,"  growing 
weaker,  and  gradually  growing  silent,  were  silent  alto- 
gether at  last.  Still  he  struggled  against  sleep ;  he  was 
conscious  yet;  he  was  thinking  still  of  Olka;  but  at 
the  same  time  he  felt  himself  in  a  greater  desert,  more 
and  more  alone,  as  if  forgotten ;  and  wonderment  seized 
him  that  she  was  not  there  with  him  in  that  loneliness 
and  that  night. 

He  murmured,  "  Olka  !  where  art  thou  ? " 

And  once  more  he  spoke  as  if  calling  her,  — 

"  Olka ! " 

The  hautboy  dropped  from  his  stiffened  hands. 

Next  morning  the  dawn  shone  on  his  sitting  figure, 
with  the  hautboy  near  his  long  legs,  and  his  face  was 
blue,  astonished  as  it  were,  and  at  the  same  time  fixed  in 
listening  to  the  last  note  of  the  song,  "  My  Green 
Pitcher." 


LUX   IN   TENEBRIS   LUCET. 


LUX   IN   TENEBRIS   LUCET.1 

OOMETIMES  in  the  autumn,  especially  in  November, 
O  such  wet  and  gloomy  days  come  that  life  becomes 
repulsive  even  to  a  healthy  man.  From  the  time  that 
Kamionka  had  fallen  ill  and  stopped  work  on  his  statue 
of  "  Compassion,"  bad  weather  had  caused  him  more  suf- 
fering than  sickness  itself.  Every  morning,  when  he 
had  dragged  his  body  out  of  bed,  he  rubbed  the  great 
sweating  window  of  his  studio  and  looked  upward,  in  the 
hope  that  he  would  see  some  little  strip  of  blue  sky  ;  but 
every  morning  disappointment  awaited  him.  An  oppres- 
sive lead-colored  mist  hung  over  the  earth ;  rain  was  not 
falling,  still  the  paving  stones  in  the  yard  looked  like 
sponges  soaked  in  liquid ;  everything  was  wet,  slippery, 
penetrated  through  and  through  with  water,  single  drops 
of  which  falling  from  the  eave-troughs  sounded  with  a 
peculiar  and  desperate  monotony,  as  if  measuring  that 
sluggish  time  of  sadness. 

The  window  of  the  studio  looked  out  on  a  courtyard, 
which  was  bounded  by  a  garden.  The  grass  beyond  the 
paling  was  green  yet  with  a  sort  of  sickly  greenness,  in 
which  were  death  and  decay ;  but  the  trees  with  their 
yellow  leaves,  and  their  branches  black  from  dampness 
and  also  effaced  by  the  mist  somewhat,  seemed  dead  alto- 
gether. From  among  those  trees  came  every  evening  the 

1  Light  shineth  in  the  darkness. 


388  LUX  IN  TENEBRIS  LUCET. 

cawing  of  crows,  which  had  flown  in  from  the  forests  and 
fields  to  the  city  for  winter  quarters,  and  which,  with  a 
great  clattering  of  wings,  settled  down  for  the  night 
on  the  branches. 

The  studio  in  days  like  this  was  as  gloomy  as  the 
place  for  bones  in  a  cemetery.  Marble  and  plaster  of 
Paris  need  azure.  In  that  leaden  light  the  whiteness 
had  something  sad  in  it;  figures  in  dark  terra-cotta  lost 
all  precision  of  lines  and  changed  into  indefinite  forms 
almost  terrible. 

Dirt  and  disorder  increased  the  gloom  of  the  studio. 
On  the  floor  was  a  thick  layer  of  dust,  formed  from  pieces 
of  dry  terra-cotta  ground  fine  from  trampling ;  to  this  was 
added  mud  from  the  street.  The  naked  walls  were 
merely  ornamented  here  and  there  with  models  of  hands 
and  feet  in  plaster  of  Paris ;  near  the  window  hung  a 
small  mirror,  above  it  a  horse  skull,  and  a  bouquet  of 
artificial  flowers  quite  black  from  dust. 

In  the  corner  was  a  bed  covered  with  a  quilt,  old  and 
rumpled ;  near  the  bed  a  commode ;  on  this  an  iron  candle- 
stick. 

Kamionka,  through  reasons  of  economy,  kept  no  sepa- 
rate lodging-place ;  he  slept  in  the  studio.  Usually  the 
bed  was  concealed  by  a  screen,  but  the  screen  had  been 
removed  to  let  the  sick  man  look  out  more  easily  through 
the  window  near  the  foot  of  his  bed,  and  see  if  the  weather 
were  clearing.  Another  and  larger  window  placed  in  the 
ceiling  of  the  studio  was  covered  with  dust  on  the  out- 
side to  such  a  degree  that  even  on  bright  days  a  gray  and 
gloomy  light  passed  in  through  it. 

But  the  weather  did  not  clear.  After  a  number  of 
days  of  darkness  the  clouds  settled  clown  thoroughly,  the 
air  was  penetrated  to  the  last  degree  with  a  watery,  heavy 
mist,  and  became  still  darker.  Kamionka,  who  so  far  had 


LUX  IN   TEXEBRIS   LUCET.  389 

lain  on  the  bed  in  his  clothing,  felt  worse,  so  he  undressed 
and  lay  down  for  good. 

Speaking  precisely,  he  was  not  so  much  sick  with  any 
definite  disease  as  he  was  bowed  down,  dissatisfied, 
exhausted,  and  sad  in  general.  His  weakness  cut  the 
feet  from  beneath  him.  He  had  no  wish  to  die;  but 
neither  did  he  feel  strength  to  live. 

The  long  hours  of  the  dismal  day  seemed  longer  because 
he  had  no  one  for  company.  His  wife  had  been  dead 
twenty  years ;  his  relatives  lived  in  another  part  of  the 
country ;  and  he  did  not  live  with  his  colleagues.  In 
recent  years  every  acquaintance  had  withdrawn  from  him 
because  of  his  ever-increasing  sorrow.  At  first,  his  dis- 
position amused  people  ;  but  later,  when  he  grew  stranger 
and  stranger,  when  every  jest  roused  a  permanent  feeling 
of  offence  in  him,  even  those  nearest  the  man  broke  off 
all  relations  with  him. 

People  took  it  ill  of  him  also  that  with  age  he  had 
grown  devout,  and  his  sincerity  was  suspected.  Malicious 
tongues  said  that  he  sat  in  church  only  to  receive  orders 
from  churches  through  his  relations  with  priests.  This 
was  not  true.  His  piety  did  not  flow  from  deep  and 
calm  faith,  perhaps,  but  it  was  unselfish. 

What,  however,  lent  a  show  of  truth  to  the  critics,  was 
the  penuriousness  which  increased  more  and  more  in 
Kaniionka.  For  a  number  of  years  he  had  lived  in  his 
studio  to  lessen  expenses ;  he  lived  God  knows  on  what 
food,  and  injured  his  health  so  much  that  at  last  his  face 
was  as  yellow  and  transparent  as  if  moulded  from  wax. 
He  avoided  people  also  for  this,  lest  some  one  might 
ask  of  him  sometime  a  favor. 

In  general,  he  was  a  man  of  broken  character,  em- 
bittered and  uncommonly  unhappy.  Still  his  was  not  a 
common  nature  at  bottom,  for  even  his  faults  had  artistic 


390  LUX  IN   TENEBRIS   LUCET. 

traits  which  were  special  to  him.  Those  who  judged  that 
with  his  penuriousness  he  must  have  collected  a  consider- 
able property  were  mistaken.  In  truth,  Kamionka  was 
poor ;  for  all  that  he  owned  he  had  spent  on  engravings  of 
which  he  had  whole  portfolios  at  the  bottom  of  his  bureau ; 
these,  from  time  to  time,  he  counted  with  the  greed  and 
the  care  of  a  usurer  counting  his  money.  He  concealed 
this  taste  the  more  carefully,  perhaps,  because  it  had  grown 
on  the  basis  of  great  misfortune  and  deep  feeling. 

On  a  time,  a  year  more  or  less  after  the  death  of  his 
wife,  he  saw  in  an  antiquarian's  collection  an  old  engrav- 
ing, representing  Armida.  In  the  face  of  this  Armida  he 
detected  a  likeness  to  the  face  of  his  dead  one.  He 
bought  the  engraving  immediately,  and  from  that  time 
on  he  sought  copperplates,  those  at  first  representing 
only  Armida,  then,  as  the  fancy  increased,  every  other. 

Those  who  have  lost  persons  much  loved  by  them 
are  forced  to  attach  life  to  something,  or  they  could  not 
exist.  As  to  Kamionka,  no  one  would  have  thought  that 
this  rather  aged  original  and  egotist  had  ever  loved  his 
wife  more  than  he  loved  his  existence.  It  is  likely, 
moreover,  that  had  she  not  died,  life  would  have  flowed 
on  for  him  more  broadly,  more  calmly,  and  more  in  human 
fashion.  Be  that  as  it  may,  love  in  Kamionka  survived 
his  happy  days,  his  youth,  and  even  his  talent, 

His  piety,  which  in  the  course  of  years  turned  into 
a  custom  resting  on  the  preservation  of  external  forms, 
flowed  from  this  love  of  his  also.  Kamionka,  without 
being  a  man  of  deep  faith,  began  after  the  death  of  his 
wife  to  pray  for  the  dead  one,  since  this  seemed  to  him 
the  only  thing  he  could  do  for  her,  and  thus  a  kind  of 
thread  kept  them  together. 

Natures  apparently  cold  are  often  able  to  love  with 
great  power  and  persistently.  After  the  death  of  his  wife, 


LUX  IN  TENEBRIS   LUCET.  391 

Kamionka's  whole  life  and  all  the  thoughts  that  he  had, 
entwined  themselves  around  her  memory,  and  drew  food 
from  it,  just  as  plant  parasites  draw  food  from  the  tree  on 
which  they  are  growing.  But  from  memories  of  that  sort 
the  human  plant  can  gain  nothing  but  poisonous  juices 
made  up  of  sorrow  and  enormous  vexation,  hence 
Kamionka  too  poisoned  himself,  grew  distorted,  went  to 
nothing. 

Had  he  not  been  an  artist,  he  would  not  have  survived, 
perhaps,  but  he  was  saved  by  his  calling.  After  the 
death  of  his  wife,  he  began  to  make  a  monument  to- 
iler. It  is  useless  for  the  living  to  say  that  it  is  all  one 
to  the  dead  in  what  graves  they  are  lying.  Kamionka 
wished  that  it  should  be  beautiful  there  for  his  Zosia,  and 
he  worked  with  his  heart  no  less  than  his  hands.  This 
was  why  he  did  not  become  insane  the  first  half  year,  but 
grew  inured  to  despair. 

The  man  was  out  of  joint  and  unhappy ;  but  art  saved 
the  artist.  From  that  moment,  Kamionka  existed  by 
virtue  of  his  calling.  People  who  look  at  statues  and 
images  in  galleries  do  not  divine  that  artists  may  serve 
their  art  honestly  or  dishonestly.  In  this  regard, 
Kamionka  was  without  reproach.  He  had  no  wings  at 
his  shoulders,  —  he  possessed  only  talent  somewhat  above 
the  common,  and  perhaps,  therefore,  art  could  not  fill  out 
his  life,  or  give  him  recompense  for  all  losses ;  but  he 
respected  it  deeply,  and  was  ever  sincere  with  regard  to  it. 
During  the  long  years  of  his  labor,  he  had  never  tempted 
it,  and  had  never  committed  injustice  regarding  it,  either  in 
view  of  fame,  profit,  praise,  or  blame.  He  always  did  that 
which  he  felt.  During  his  happy  years,  when  he  lived 
like  other  men,  he  was  able  to  say  things  touching  art 
which  were  quite  uncommon,  and  after  that,  when  people 
began  to  turn  aside  from  him,  he  thought  frequently  of 


392  LUX  IN  TENEBRIS   LUCET. 

this  art  in  his  lonely  studio,  in  a  manner  which  was  lofty 
and  honest. 

He  felt  greatly  abandoned ;  but  in  this  there  was  no 
cause  for  wonder.  People's  relations  must  have  a  certain 
medium  measure  in  virtue  of  which  the  exceptionally 
unhappy  are  cut  off  from  life.  Tor  that  very  reason, 
they  are  covered  with  as  much  strangeness  and  as  many 
faults  as  a  stone  thrown  up  from  a  torrent  is  covered  with 
moss,  when  it  ceases  to  rub  against  others.  Now  when 
Kamionka  was  ill,  no  living  soul  looked  into  his  studio, 
with  the  exception  of  a  servant-woman,  who  came  twice 
a  day  to  make  tea  for  him,  and  serve  it.  At  every  visit, 
her  advice  was  to  call  in  a  doctor ;  but  he,  fearing  the 
outlay,  would  not  give  his  consent  to  this. 

At  last  he  became  very  weak ;  perhaps  for  the  reason 
that  he  took  nothing  into  his  mouth  except  tea.  But  he 
had  no  desire  then  for  anything,  either  for  eating,  or 
work,  or  life.  His  thoughts  were  as  if  withered  like 
those  leaves  on  which  he  looked  through  the  window ; 
and  those  thoughts  of  his  answered  perfectly  to  that 
autumn,  to  that  drizzle,  to  that  leaden  darkness.  There 
are  no  worse  moments  in  life  than  those  in  which  a  man 
feels  that  he  has  accomplished  what  he  had  to  accomplish, 
that  he  has  outlived  that  which  he  had  to  outlive ;  and  that 
nothing  more  in  this  world  belongs  to  him.  Kamionka 
had  lived  almost  fifteen  years  in  continual  dread  that  his 
talent  would  exhaust  itself ;  now  he  was  sure  that  it  had, 
and  he  thought  with  bitterness  that  even  art  was  desert- 
ing him.  He  felt  therewith  weariness  and  exhaustion  in 
every  bone  of  his  body.  He  did  not  expect  a  sudden 
death ;  but  he  did  not  believe  in  a  return  to  health.  In 
general,  there  was  not  one  spark  of  hope  in  him. 

If  he  wished  for  anything  it  was  only  that  the  weather 
would  brighten,  that  the  sun  would  shine  into  his  studio. 


LUX  IN   TENEBRIS   LUCET.  393 

For  he  thought  that  in  that  case  he  might  gain  con- 
solation. He  had  always  been  specially  sensitive  to 
slush  and  to  darkness ;  such  days  had  always  deepened 
his  sadness  and  depression,  and  what  must  it  now  be 
when  that  "  hopeless  time,"  as  Kamionka  called  it,  was 
joined  to  his  sickness  ! 

Every  evening  when  the  servant  brought  tea  he  in- 
quired :  "  Is  it  not  clearing  on  the  edge  of  the  sky 
somewhere  ? " 

"  There  is  such  a  mist,"  answered  she,  "  that  one  man 
cannot  see  another." 

Kainionka,  hearing  this  answer,  closed  his  eyes  and 
lay  motionless  a  long  time. 

In  the  yard  it  was  always  quiet  save  that  drops  of  rain 
pattered  evenly  and  monotonously  in  the  gutters. 

About  three  o'clock  one  afternoon  it  was  so  dark  that 
Kamionka  was  forced  to  light  a  candle.  And  he  was  so 
weak  that  he  did  this  with  no  little  difficulty.  Before  he 
reached  for  a  match  he  meditated  a  long  time ;  then  he 
extended  his  arm  lazily ;  the  thinness  of  this  arm,  evident 
through  the  shirt  sleeve,  filled  him,  as  a  sculptor,  with 
repugnance  and  bitterness.  When  he  had  lighted  the 
candle  he  rested  again,  without  moving,  till  the  evening 
arrival  of  the  servant,  listening  with  closed  eyes  to  the 
drops  sounding  in  the  gutter. 

His  studio  looked  strange  then.  The  flame  of  the  can- 
dle lighted  the  bed  with  Kamionka  lying  on  it,  and  came 
to  a  focus  in  a  shining  point  on  his  forehead  with  its  skin 
dry  and  yellow  as  if  polished.  The  rest  of  the  room  was 
sunk  in  darkness,  which  grew  denser  each  moment.  But 
as  it  grew  dark  outside  the  statues  became  more  rosy  and 
acquired  life.  The  flame  of  the  candle  now  sank,  now 
rose,  and  in  that  quivering  light  the  statues  too  seemed 
to  sink  and  rise  exactly  as  if  they  were  rising  on  tiptoe 


394  LUX  IN   TENEBRIS   LUCET. 

to  gain  a  better  look  at  the  face  of  the  sculptor,  and  be 
convinced  that  their  creator  was  living. 

And  indeed  there  was  a  certain  immobility  of  death  in 
that  countenance.  But  at  times  the  blue  lips  of  the  sick 
man  stirred  with  a  slight  movement,  as  if  in  prayer,  or  as 
if  he  were  cursing  his  loneliness  and  those  dreadful  drops 
of  moisture  which  measured  with  even  monotony  the 
hours  of  his  sickness. 

One  evening  the  woman  came  a  little  drunk,  therefore 
more  talkative  than  usual. 

"  There  is  so  much  work  on  my  head  that  I  can  barely 
look  in  twice  a  day,"  said  she  ;  "  if  you  would  call  a  re- 
ligious, a  sister  of  charity  costs  nothing,  and  she  would 
be  better  for  a  sick  man." 

This  advice  pleased  Kamionka,  but  he,  like  others  who 
are  afflicted,  had  the  habit  of  always  opposing  whatever 
advice  people  gave  him  ;  so  he  would  not  agree. 

But  after  the  woman  had  gone  he  began  to  think  thus : 
"  A  sister  of  charity  costs  nothing,  but  what  aid  she 
might  give,  and  what  comfort ! "  Kamionka,  like  every 
sick  man  left  to  himself,  experienced  much  suffering  and 
struggled  with  a  thousand  petty  miseries,  which  annoyed 
him  as  much  as  they  made  him  impatient.  More  than 
once  he  lay  for  whole  hours  with  a  crooked  neck  before 
he  would  move  to  arrange  his  own  pillow.  Often  in  the 
night  he  was  cold  and  would  have  given  God  knows 
what  for  a  cup  of  tea ;  but  if  it  was  difficult  to  light  a 
candle,  how  was  he  to  think  of  making  tea  ?  A  sister  of 
charity  would  do  all  this  with  the  mild  readiness  usual  to 
those  sisters.  Oh,  how  much  easier  to  be  sick  if  one  had 
their  assistance ! 

The  poor  man  came  at  last  to  think  of  sickness  under 
such  conditions  as  something  desirable  and  pleasant,  and 
he  wondered  in  his  soul  if  the  like  happiness  were  ac- 
cessible to  him  even. 


LUX  IN  TENEBRIS   LUCET.  395 

It  seemed,  too,  that  if  a  sister  were  to  come  and  bring 
with  her  a  little  joyousness  and  solace  to  the  studio,  per- 
haps the  weather  would  clear  up  outside,  and  the  sound- 
ing drops  of  water  cease  to  pursue  him. 

He  regretted  at  last  that  he  had  not  accepted  the  advice 
of  the  woman  immediately.  Night  was  approaching, 
long  and  gloomy,  and  the  woman  was  to  look  in  at  him 
only  next  morning.  He  understood  now  that  that  night 
would  be  for  him  more  grievous  than  all  the  nights  which 
had  ever  preceded  it. 

Then  he  thought  what  a  Lazarus  he  was  —  and  in  dis- 
tinction to  his  present  wretchedness  his  former  happy 
years  stood  before  his  eyes  as  if  living.  And  as  a  moment 
before  the  thought  of  the  sister  of  charity,  so  now  the 
remembrance  of  those  years  joined  itself  in  the  same  won- 
derful manner  in  his  weakened  brain,  with  the  under- 
standing of  sun  and  light  and  fair  weather. 

He  began  to  think  of  his  dead  one,  and  to  speak  with 
her,  as  he  had  the  habit  of  doing  when  he  was  ill.  At 
last  he  wearied  himself,  felt  that  he  was  growing  weak, 
and  fell  asleep. 

The  candle  was  burning  slowly.  Its  flame  from  being 
rosy  was  blue,  then  it  gleamed  brightly  a  number  of 
times,  and  died.  Deep  darkness  embraced  the  studio. 

But  meanwhile  in  the  yard  drops  of  rain  fell  as  evenly 
and  gloomily  as  if  by  means  of  them  darkness  and  grief 
were  distilled  through  all  nature. 

Kamionka  slept  long  and  lightly,  but  all  at  once  he 
woke  with  a  certain  wonderful  impression  that  some- 
thing uncommon  was  happening  in  the  studio.  The 
morning  dawn  was  in  the  world.  The  marbles  and 
plasters  of  Paris  began  to  grow  white.  The  broad  Vene- 
tian window  opposite  his  bed  was  penetrated  more  and 
more  with  pale  light. 


396  LUX  IN   TENEBRIS   LUCET. 

In  this  light  Kamionka  saw  a  figure  sitting  at  his 
bedside. 

He  opened  his  eyes  widely  and  looked  at  the  figure :  it 
was  that  of  a  sister  of  charity. 

She  was  sitting  motionless,  turned  slightly  toward  the 
window,  with  her  head  inclined.  Her  hands  were  laid 
on  her  knees,  —  and  she  seemed  to  be  praying.  The 
sick  man  could  not  see  her  face,  but  he  saw  plainly  her 
white  head-dress  and  the  dark  outline  of  her  rather  frail 
shoulders. 

His  heart  began  to  beat  somewhat  nervously,  and  these 
questions  flew  through  his  head, — 

"  When  could  the  servant  have  brought  in  this  sister 
of  charity ;  and  how  did  she  enter  ? " 

Next  he  thought  that  perhaps  something  seemed  to 
him  thus  because  he  was  weak,  then  he  closed  his  eyes. 
But  after  a  while  he  opened  them  again. 

The  sister  of  charity  was  sitting  on  the  same  spot, 
motionless  as  if  sunk  in  prayer. 

A  wonderful  feeling  composed  of  fear  and  delight 
began  to  raise  the  hair  on  the  head  of  the  sick  man. 
Something  attracted  his  eyes  with  incomprehensible 
power  to  that  figure.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
seen  it  somewhere,  but  where  and  when  he  could  not 
remember.  An  irresistible  desire  to  see  her  face  seized 
him,  but  the  white  head-dress  concealed  it.  Kamionka, 
without  knowing  why,  did  not  dare  to  speak  or  to  move, 
or  hardly  to  breathe.  He  felt  only  that  the  sensation 
of  fear  and  delight  was  possessing  him  more  and  more 
powerfully,  and  he  asked  with  astonishment,  "  What  is 
this  ? " 

Meanwhile  there  was  perfect  day.  And  what  a  mar- 
vellous morning  that  must  be  outside!  Suddenly  with- 
out any  transition  there  came  into  the  studio  a  light  as 


LUX  IN   TENEBRIS   LUCET.  397 

powerful,  bright,  and  joyous  as  if  it  were  springtime  and 
May. 

Waves  of  golden  glitter,  rising  like  a  flood,  began  to 
fill  the  room,  to  overflow  it  so  mightily  that  the  marbles 
were  drowned  and  dissolved  in  that  brightness ;  the  walls 
were  covered  with  it  and  then  disappeared  altogether. 
Kamionka  found  himself  as  it  were  in  some  bright 
space  without  boundary. 

Then  he  noticed  that  the  covering  on  the  head  of  the 
sister  began  to  lose  its  white  stiffness,  that  it  trembled  at 
the  edges,  melted,  dissolved  like  clear  mist,  and  changed 
into  light. 

The  sister  turned  her  face  slowly  toward  the  sick  man, 
and  then  the  deserted  sufferer  saw  in  the  bright  aureole 
the  well-known  hundred  times  beloved  features  of  his 
dead  wife. 

He  sprang  from  the  bed,  and  from  his  breast  came  a 
cry,  in  which  all  his  years  of  sorrow,  tears,  suffering,  and 
despair  were  united,  — 

"Zosia!  Zosia!" 

And  seizing  her,  he  drew  her  to  him ;  she  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck. 

More  and  more  light  came  into  the  room. 

"  Thou  didst  not  forget  me,"  said  she  at  last,  "  hence  I 
have  come.  I  obtained  an  easy  death  for  thee." 

Kamionka  held  her  in  his  arms  all  the  time,  as  if  in 
fear  that  the  blessed  vision  would  vanish  from  him 
together  with  the  light. 

"  I  am  ready  to  die,"  answered  he,  "  if  thou  wilt  stay 
with  me." 

She  smiled  at  him  with  her  angelic  smile,  and  taking 
one  arm  from  his  neck  she  pointed  downward,  and 
said,— 

"  Thou  art  dead  already.     Look ! " 


398  LUX  IN  TENEBRIS   LUCET. 

He  looked  in  the  direction  of  her  hand,  and  behold, 
under  their  feet,  he  saw  through  the  window  in  the  ceil- 
ing of  his  own  gloomy  and  lonely  studio,  and  there  on 
the  bed  lay  his  own  corpse,  with  widely  opened  mouth, 
which  in  the  yellow  face  seemed  a  dark  hole  as  it  were. 

And  he  looked  on  that  emaciated  body  as  something 
foreign.  But  after  a  while  all  began  to  vanish  from  his 
eyes,  for  that  surrounding  brightness,  as  if  urged  by  a 
wind  from  beyond  this  world,  went  off  somewhere  into 
infinity. 


ON  THE  BRIGHT  SHORE. 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  artist  was  sitting  beside  Pani  Elzen  in  an  open 
carriage ;  on  the  front  seat  were  her  sons  the  twin 
brothers,  Romulus  and  Remus.  He  was  partly  convers- 
ing with  the  lady,  partly  thinking  of  a  question  which 
required  prompt  decision,  and  partly  looking  at  the  sea. 
There  was  something  to  look  at.  They  were  driving  from 
Nice  toward  Monte  Carlo  by  the  so-called  Old  Cornice ; 
that  is,  by  a  road  along  impending  cliffs,  high  above  the 
water.  On  the  left,  the  view  was  hidden  by  naked  tower- 
ing rocks,  which  were  gray,  with  a  rosy  pearl  tinge  ; 
on  the  right  was  the  blue  Mediterranean,  which  ap- 
peared to  lie  immensely  low  down,  thus  producing  the 
effect  of  an  abyss  and  of  boundlessness.  From  the  height 
on  which  they  were  moving,  the  small  fishing  boats 
seemed  like  white  spots,  so  that  frequently  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  distinguish  a  distant  sail  from  a  seamew  cir- 
cling above  the  water. 

Pani  Elzen  had  placed  her  hand  on  Svirski's  arm ;  her 
face  was  that  of  a  woman  delighted  and  forgetful  of 
what  she  is  doing;  she  gazed  with  dreamy  eyes  over  the 
mirror  of  the  sea. 

Svirski  felt  the  touch ;  a  quiver  of  delight  ran  through 
him,  and  he  thought  that  if  at  that  moment  Romulus  and 
Remus  had  not  been  in  front  of  them,  he  might  have 

26 


402  OX   THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

placed  his  arm  around  the  young  woman,  perhaps,  and 
pressed  her  to  his  bosom. 

But  straightway  a  certain  fear  seized  him  at  the  thought 
that  hesitation  would  then  have  an  end,  and  the  question 
be  settled. 

"  Stop  the  carriage,  please,"  said  Pani  Elzen. 

Svirski  stopped  the  carriage,  and  they  were  silent 
a  moment. 

"  How  quiet  it  is  here  after  the  bustle  of  Monte  Carlo !  " 
said  the  young  widow. 

"  I  hear  only  music,"  answered  the  artist ;  "  perhaps  the 
bands  are  playing  on  the  iron-clads  in  Villa  Franca." 

In  fact,  from  below  came  at  intervals  muffled  sounds  of 
music,  borne  thither  by  the  same  breeze  which  brought 
the  odor  of  orange-blossoms  and  heliotropes.  Beneath 
them  were  visible  the  roofs  of  villas,  dotting  the  shore, 
and  almost  hidden  in  groves  of  eucalyptus,  while  round 
about  were  large  white  spots  formed  by  blossoming 
almond-trees,  and  rosy  spots  made  by  peach  blossoms. 
Lower  down  was  the  dark-blue  sunlit  bay  of  Villa  Franca, 
with  crowds  of  great  ships. 

The  life  seething  there  presented  a  marvellous  contrast 
to  the  deep  deadness  of  the  naked,  barren  mountains, 
above  which  extended  the  sky,  cloudless  and  so  trans- 
parent that  it  was  monotonous  and  glassy.  Everything 
was  dimmed  and  belittled  amid  that  calm  greatness ; 
the  carriage  with  its  occupants  seemed,  as  it  were,  a  kind 
of  beetle,  clinging  to  the  cliffs  along  which  it  \vas 
climbing  to  the  summit  with  insolence. 

"Here  life  ends  altogether,"  said  Svirski,  looking  at 
the  naked  cliffs. 

Pani  Elzen  leaned  more  heavily  on  his  shoulder  and 
answered  with  a  drowsy,  drawling  voice,  — 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  that  here  life  begins." 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  403 

After  a  moment  Svirski  answered  with  a  certain  emo- 
tion, "  Perhaps  you  are  right." 

And  he  looked  with  an  inquiring  glance  at  her.  Pani 
Elzen  raised  her  eyes  to  him  in  answer,  but  dropped  them 
quickly,  as  if  confused,  and,  though  her  two  sons  were 
sitting  on  the  front  seat  of  the  carriage,  she  looked  at 
that  moment  like  a  maiden  whose  eyes  could  not  en- 
dure the  first  ray  of  love.  After  that,  both  were  silent ; 
while  from  below  came  snatches  of  music. 

Meanwhile,  far  away  at  sea,  at  the  very  entrance  to  the 
bay,  appeared  a  dark  pillar  of  smoke,  and  the  quiet  of 
the  company  was  broken  by  Eemus,  who  sprang  up, 
and  cried,  — 

"  Tiens  !  le  '  Fohmidable ' !  " 

Pani  Elzen  cast  a  glance  of  displeasure  at  her  younger 
son.  She  knew  the  value  of  that  moment,  in  which  every 
next  word  might  weigh  in  her  fate  decisively. 

"  Eemus,"  said  she,  "  will  you  be  quiet  ? " 

"  But,  mamma,  it  is  the  '  Fohmidable ' ! "  1 

"  What  an  unendurable  boy ! " 

"  Pouhquoi  ?  "  l 

"  He  is  a  duhen  l  [duren,  a  simpleton] ;  but  this  time  he  is 
right,"  called  out  Romulus,  quickly ;  "  yesterday  we  were 
at  Villa  Franca," —  here  he  turned  to  Svirski.  "  You  saw 
us  go  on  velocipedes  ;  they  told  us  there  that  the  whole 
squadron  had  arrived  except  the  '  Fohmidable,'  which  was 
due  to-day." 

To  this  Remus  answered  with  a  strong  accent  on  every 
last  syllable,  — 

"  Thou  art  a  duhen,1  thyself  !  " 

The  boys  fell  to  punching  each  other  with  their  elbows. 

1  Romulus  and  Remus  lisp  or  pronounce  r  in  the  Parisian  manner, 
hence  the  use  of  h  instead  of  r  in  the  above  words,  both  French  and 
Polish. 


404  ON   THE   BRIGHT    SHORE. 

Pani  Elzen,  knowing  how  Svirski  disliked  her  sons'  style 
of  speech,  and  generally  the  manner  in  which  they  were 
reared,  commanded  them  to  be  silent. 

"I  have  told  you  and  Pan  Kresovich,"  said  she,  "not 
to  speak  among  yourselves  in  any  language  but  Polish." 

Kresovich  was  a  student  from  Zurich,  with  incipient 
lung  disease ;  Pani  Elzen  had  found  him  on  the  Riviera, 
and  engaged  him  as  tutor  for  her  sons,  after  her  acquaint- 
ance with  Svirski,  and  especially  after  a  public  declara- 
tion of  the  malicious  and  wealthy  Pan  Vyadrovski,  that 
respectable  houses  had  ceased  to  rear  their  sons  as  com- 
mercial travellers. 

Meanwhile  the  unlucky  "  Formidable  "  had  spoiled  the 
temper  of  the  sensitive  artist.  After  a  time,  the  carriage, 
gritting  along  the  stones,  moved  on. 

"  You  took  their  part,  and  I  brought  them,"  said  Pani 
Elzen,  with  a  sweet  voice ;  "  you  are  too  kind  to  the  boys. 
But  one  should  be  here  during  moonlight.  Would  you 
like  to  come  to-night  ?  " 

"  I  like  to  come  always ;  but  to-night  there  will  be  no 
moon,  and  of  course  your  dinner  will  end  late." 

"  That  is  true ;  but  let  me  know  when  the  next  full 
moon  comes.  It  is  a  pity  that  I  did  not  ask  you  alone  to 
this  dinner—  With  a  full  moon,  it  must  be  beautiful 
here,  though  on  these  heights  I  have  always  a  throbbing 
of  the  heart.  If  you  could  see  how  it  throbs  at  this 
moment ;  but  look  at  my  pulse,  you  can  see  it  even 
through  the  glove." 

She  turned  her  palm,  which  was  confined  so  tightly  in 
the  Danish  glove  as  to  be  turned  almost  into  a  tube,  and 
stretched  it  to  Svirski.  He  took  the  hand  in  both  of  his, 
and  looked  at  it. 

"  No,"  said  he ;  "I  cannot  see  the  pulse  clearly,  but 
perhaps  I  can  hear  it." 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  405 

And,  inclining  his  head,  he  put  his  ear  to  the  buttons  of 
her  glove  ;  for  a  moment  he  pressed  the  glove  firmly  to  his 
face,  then  touched  it  lightly  with  his  lips,  and  said,  — 

"  In  years  of  childhood  I  was  able  sometimes  to  catch 
a  bird,  and  its  heart  beat  just  this  way.  The  beating 
here  is  just  as  in  a  captured  bird ! " 

She  laughed,  almost  with  melancholy,  and  repeated, 
"  '  As  in  a  captured  bird.'  But  what  did  you  do  with  the 
captured  birds  ? " 

"  I  grew  attached  to  them,  immensely.  But  they 
always  flew  away." 

"  Bad  birds." 

"  And  thus  my  life  arranged  itself,"  continued  the 
artist,  with  emotion ;  "  I  have  sought  in  vain  for  some- 
thing which  would  consent  to  stay  with  me,  till  at  last 
I  have  lost  even  hope." 

"Do  not  lose  that;  have  confidence,"  answered  Pani 
Elzen. 

Svirski  thought  then  to  himself,  that,  since  the  affair 
had  begun  so  long  before,  there  was  need  to  end  it,  and 
let  that  come  which  God  permits.  He  felt  at  the  moment 
like  a  man  who  closes  his  eyes  and  ears  with  his  fingers ; 
but  he  felt  also  that  it  was  needful  to  act  thus,  and  that 
there  was  no  time  for  hesitation. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  walk  a  little," 
said  he.  "  The  carriage  will  follow,  and,  besides,  we  shall 
be  able  to  speak  more  in  freedom." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Pani  Elzen,  with  a  resigned 
voice. 

Svirski  punched  the  driver  with  his  cane ;  the  carriage 
halted ;  and  they  stepped  out.  Romulus  and  Eemus  ran 
forward  at  once,  and  only  stopped,  when  some  tens  of 
yards  ahead,  to  look  from  above  at  the  houses  in  Eze,  and 
roll  stones  into  the  olive-groves  growing  below.  Svirski 


406  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

and  Pani  Elzen  were  left  alone ;  but  that  day  some  fatality 
seemed  to  weigh  on  them,  for  before  they  could  use  the 
moment  they  saw  that  a  horseman,  coming  from  the 
direction  of  Monaco,  had  stopped  near  Romulus  and 
Remus.  Behind  him  was  a  groom  dressed  in  the 
English  manner. 

"  That  is  De  Sinten,"  said  Pani  Elzen,  with  impatience. 

"  Yes,  I  recognize  him." 

In  fact,  they  saw  next  moment  before  them  a  horse's 
head,  and  above  it  the  equine  face  of  young  De  Sinten. 
He  hesitated  whether  or  not  to  salute  and  go  on,  but 
considering  evidently  that  if  they  had  wanted  to  be  alone 
they  would  not  have  brought  the  boys,  he  sprang  from 
the  horse,  and,  beckoning  to  the  groom,  began  to  greet 
them. 

"  Good-day,"  answered  Pani  Elzen,  somewhat  dryly. 
"  Is  this  your  hour  ? " 

"  It  is.  Mornings,  I  shoot  at  pigeons  with  Wilkis  Bey, 
so  I  cannot  ride  lest  I  disturb  my  pulse.  I  am  now  seven 
pigeons  ahead  of  him.  Do  you  know  that  the  'Formid- 
able '  comes  to  Villa  Franca  to-day,  and  to-morrow  the 
admiral  wrill  give  a  ball  on  deck  ? " 

"  We  saw  it  arrive." 

"  I  was  just  going  to  Villa  Franca  to  see  one  of  the 
officers  whom  I  know,  but  it  is  late.  If  you  permit,  I  will 
go  with  you  to  Monte  Carlo." 

Pani  Elzen  nodded,  and  they  went  on  together.  De 
Sinten,  since  he  was  a  horseman  by  nature,  began  at 
once  to  speak  of  the  "  hunter,"  on  which  he  had  come. 

"  I  bought  him  from  Waxdorf,"  said  he.  "  Waxdorf 
lost  at  trente  et  quarante,  and  needed  money.  He  bet 
inverse,  and  hit  on  a  lucky  series,  but  afterward  fortune 
changed."  Here  he  turned  to  the  horse.  "  He  is  of  pure 
Irish  blood,  and  I  will  give  my  neck  that  there  is  not  a 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  407 

better  hunter  on  the  whole  Cornice  ;  but  it  is  difficult  to 
mount  him." 

"  Is  he  vicious  ? "  inquired  Svirski. 

"  Once  you  are  in  the  saddle,  he  is  like  a  child.  He 
is  used  to  me ;  but  you,  for  instance,  could  not  mount 
him." 

At  this  Svirski,  who  in  matters  of  sport  was  childishly 
vain,  asked  at  once,  — 

"  How  is  that  ?  " 

"  Do  not  try,  especially  here  above  the  precipice ! " 
cried  Pani  Elzen. 

But  Svirski  had  his  hand  on  the  horse's  shoulder 
already,  and  a  twinkle  later  was  in  the  saddle,  without 
the  least  resistance  from  the  horse ;  perhaps  the  beast 
was  not  at  all  vicious,  and  understood,  too,  that  on  the 
edge  of  a  cliff  above  a  precipice  it  was  better  not  to 
indulge  in  pranks. 

The  rider  and  the  horse  disappeared  at  a  slow  gallop 
along  the  turn  of  the  road. 

"  He  rides  very  well,"  said  De  Sinten ;  "  but  he  will 
spoil  my  horse's  feet.  There  is  no  road  here  for  riding." 

"The  horse  has  turned  out  perfectly  gentle,"  said 
Paui  Elzen. 

"  I  am  greatly  pleased  at  this,  for  here  an  accident 
happens  easily  —  and  I  was  a  little  afraid." 

On  his  face,  however,  there  was  a  certain  concern ; 
first,  because  what  he  had  said  about  the  horse's  stub- 
bornness at  mounting  seemed  like  untruth,  and,  second, 
because  there  existed  a  secret  dislike  between  him  and 
Svirski.  De  Sinten  had  not,  it  is  true,  at  any  time 
serious  designs  touching  Pani  Elzen  ;  but  he  would  have 
preferred  that  no  one  should  oppose  him  in  such  designs 
as  he  had.  Besides,  some  weeks  before,  he  and  Svirski 
had  engaged  in  a  rather  lively  talk.  De  Sinten,  who 


408  ON    THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

was  an  irrepressible  aristocrat,  had  declared,  during  a 
dinner  at  Pani  Elzen's,  that  to  his  thinking  man  begins 
only  at  the  baron.  To  this  Svirski,  in  a  moment  of 
ill-humor,  answered  with  an  inquiry, — 

"  In  what  direction  ? "  (up  or  down). 

De  Sinten  took  this  reply  so  seriously  that  he  sought 
advice  of  Vyadrovski  and  Councillor  Kladzki  as  to  how 
he  ought  to  act,  and  learned,  with  genuine  astonish- 
ment, that  Svirski  had  a  coronet  on  his  shield.  A 
knowledge  of  the  artist's  uncommon  strength,  and  his 
skill  in  shooting,  had  a  soothing  effect,  perhaps,  on  the 
baron's  nerves ;  it  suffices  that  the  negotiation  had  no 
result,  except  to  leave  in  the  hearts  of  both  men  an 
indefinite  dislike.  From  the  time  that  Pani  Elzen 
seemed  to  incline  decidedly  toward  Svirski,  the  dislike 
had  become  quite  Platonic. 

But  this  dislike  was  more  decided  in  the  artist  than 
in  De  Sinten.  No  one  had  supposed  that  the  affair  of  the 
widow  and  the  artist  could  end  in  marriage ;  but  among 
their  acquaintances  people  had  begun  to  speak  of 
Svirski's  feelings  toward  Pani  Elzen,  and  he  had  a  sus- 
picion that  De  Sinten  and  his  party  were  ridiculing  him 
as  a  man  of  simple  mind.  They,  it  is  true,  did  not 
betray  themselves  by  the  slightest  word  on  any  occasion ; 
but  in  Svirski  the  conviction  was  glimmering  that  his 
suspicion  was  justified,  and  this  pained  him,  specially  out 
of  regard  for  Pani  Elzen. 

He  was  glad,  therefore,  that  on  this  occasion,  thanks 
to  the  horse's  gentleness,  De  Sinten  seemed  a  person 
who,  without  reason,  told  things  which  were  untrue; 
hence  he  said,  on  returning,  — 

"  A  good  horse,  and  specially  good  because  he  is  as 
tame  as  a  sheep." 

He  dismounted,  and  they  walked  on  together,  three  of 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  409 

them,  and  even  five,  for  Romulus  and  Kemus  followed 
closely.  Pani  Elzen,  to  spite  De  Sinten,  and  perhaps 
from  a  wish  to  be  rid  of  him,  turned  the  conversation  to 
pictures  and  art  in  general,  of  which  the  young  sportsman 
had  not  the  faintest  idea.  But  he  began  to  retail  gossip 
from  the  Casino,  and  congratulated  the  young  woman  on 
her  luck  of  yesterday ;  she  listened  with  constraint,  being 
ashamed,  in  presence  of  Svirski,  of  having  taken  part  in 
play.  Her  vexation  was  increased  when  Eomulus  called 
out,  — 

"  Mamma,  but  did  you  not  tell  us  that  you  never 
play ;  will  you  give  us  a  louis  d'or  for  that  ? " 

"  I  sought  Councillor  Kladzki,  wishing  to  invite  him 
to  dinner  to-day ;  when  I  found  him  he  and  I  played  a 
little,"  answered  she,  as  if  speaking  to  no  one  in  particular. 

"  Give  us  a  louis  d'or  apiece,"  repeated  Romulus. 

"  Or  buy  us  a  little  roulette  table,"  added  Eemus. 

"  Do  not  annoy  me  !  Let  us  go  to  the  carriage,"  said 
she,  turning  to  Svirski.  Then  she  took  farewell  of  De 
Sinten. 

"  At  seven,  did  you  say  ? "  inquired  he. 

"  At  seven." 

They  parted ;  and  after  a  while  Svirski  found  himself 
again  at  the  side  of  the  beautiful  widow.  This  time 

O 

they  occupied  the  front  seat,  since  they  wished  to  look  at 
the  setting  sun. 

"  People  say  that  Monte  Carlo  is  more  sheltered  than 
Mentone,"  remarked  the  widow ;  "  but,  oh,  how  it  bores 
me  at  times !  That  endless  noise,  that  movement,  those 
acquaintances  which  one  must  make,  willingly  or  unwill- 
ingly. Sometimes  I  wish  to  rush  away  and  spend  the 
rest  of  the  winter  in  some  quiet  corner  where  I  should 
see  only  those  whom  I  see  with  pleasure  —  "What  place 
do  you  like  best  ? " 


410  ON   THE   BRIGHT    SHORE. 

"  I  like  San  Raphael  greatly  ;  the  pines  there  go  down 
to  the  sea." 

"  True,  but  it  is  far  from  Nice,"  answered  she,  in  a  low 
voice  ;  "and  your  studio  is  in  Nice." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed,  after  which  Pani 
Elzen  inquired, — 

"  But  Antibes  ?  " 

"  True  !  I  forgot  Antibes." 

"Besides,  it  is  so  near  Nice.  After  dinner  you  will 
stop  with  me  a  little  and  talk  of  a  place  where  one  might 
escape  from  society." 

"  Do  you  wish  really  to  flee  from  people  ? " 

"Let  us  talk  sincerely;  I  detect  doubt  in  your  question. 
You  suspect  me  of  speaking  as  I  do  so  as  to  appear 
better,  or  at  least  less  shallow,  than  I  am  —  And  you 
have  a  right  to  your  suspicion,  since  you  see  me  always 
in  the  whirl  of  society.  But  my  answer  is  this  :  We 
move  frequently  with  a  force  not  our  own,  because  once 
we  were  impelled  in  a  given  direction,  and  endure  now 
in  spite  of  us  the  results  of  previous  life.  As  to  me,  it 
may  be  that  this  is  because  of  the  weakness  of  woman, 
who  has  not  strength  to  free  herself  without  the  aid 
of  another  —  I  confess  this  —  But  that  fact  does  not 
save  one  from  yearning  greatly  and  sincerely  for  some 
quiet  corner  and  a  calmer  life.  Let  people  say  what 
they  choose,  we  women  are  like  climbing  plants,  which 
creep  along  the  ground  when  they  cannot  grow  upward. 
For  this  reason,  people  are  often  mistaken,  thinking  that 
we  creep  of  our  own  choice.  By  creeping,  I  understand 
empty  society  life,  without  lofty  thought.  But  how  am 
I,  for  example,  to  defend  myself  against  this !  Some 
one  begs  permission  to  present  an  acquaintance ;  the 
man  presented  makes  a  visit,  after  that  a  second,  a 
third,  and  a  tenth  —  what  am  I  to  do  ?  Not  permit 


ON   THE  BRIGHT   SHORE.  411 

the  presentation  ?  Of  course  I  permit  it ;  even  for  this 
reason,  that  the  more  people  I  receive,  the  more  indiffer- 
ent I  am  to  each,  and  the  more  each  is  prevented  from 
occupying  an  exceptional  position." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Svirski. 

"  But  do  you  see  that  in  this  way  is  created  that 
current  of  social  life  from  which  I  cannot  tear  myself 
with  my  own  strength,  and  which  wearies  and  tortures 
me  to  such  a  degree  that  at  times  I  could  scream  out 
from  pain." 

"  I  believe  you." 

"  You  ought  to  believe  me ;  but  believe  also  that  I 
am  better  and  less  vain  than  I  seem.  When  doubts 
come  to  you,  or  when  people  speak  ill  of  me,  think 
to  yourself :  She  must  have  her  good  side.  If  you 
will  not  think  thus,  I  shall  be  very  unhappy." 

"I  give  you  my  word,  that  I  wish  always  to  think 
the  best  of  you." 

"And  you  should  think  so,"  said  she,  with  a  soft 
voice ;  "  for  though  everything  which  is  good  in  me 
were  more  stifled  than  it  is,  it  would  bloom  out  afresh 
were  I  near  you,  so  much  depends  on  those  with  whom 
one  associates  —  I  should  like  to  say  something ;  but 
I  am  afraid  —  " 

"  Say  it." 

"  You  will  not  think  me  fanciful,  or  even  worse  ?  I  am 
not  fanciful ;  I  talk  like  a  sober-minded  woman  who  states 
only  that  which  is  real,  and  looks  at  things  coolly.  At 
your  side,  for  example,  I  should  regain  my  former  spirit, 
as  calm  and  collected  as  when  I  was  a  girl ;  and  now  I 
am  almost  a  grandmother  —  thirty-five  years  of  age." 

Svirski  looked  at  her  with  a  clear  face,  very  nearly 
in  love ;  then  he  raised  her  hand  slowly  to  his  lips,  and 
said,  — 


412  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

"  Ah  !  In  comparison  with  me  you  are  really  a  child. 
Forty-eight  is  my  age  —  and  that  is  my  picture ! "  said 
he,  pointing  to  the  setting  sun. 

She  began  to  gaze  at  that  light  which  was  reflected  in 
her  shining  eyes,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  to 
herself,  "  Great,  marvellous,  beloved  sun  ! " 

Then  silence  followed.  The  calm  ruddy  light  was 
falling  on  the  faces  of  both.  The  sun  was  setting  in 

o  o 

genuine  majesty  and  grandeur.  Beneath  it,  slender  clouds, 
recently  blown  asunder,  took  on  the  forms  of  palm  lilies, 
and  were  gleaming  like  gold.  The  sea  along  the  shore 
was  sunk  in  shadow ;  farther  out,  in  open  spaces,  lay 
a  boundless  light.  In  the  valley,  the  motionless  cypress- 
trees  were  outlined  sharply  on  the  lily-colored  back- 
ground of  the  sky. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  guests  invited  by  Pani  Elzen  assembled  at  the 
Hotel  de  Paris  at  seven  o'clock.  A  separate  room 
and  also  a  smaller  one  adjoining,  in  which  coffee  was  to 
be  served,  had  been  assigned  for  the  dinner.  The  lady 
had  issued  invitations  to  a  dinner  "without  ceremony;" 
but  the  gentlemen,  knowing  what  to  understand  by  this, 
came  in  dress-coats  and  white  neckties.  Pani  Elzen 
appeared  in  a  pale  rose-colored,  low-necked  dress  with  a 
great  fold  in  the  back  extending  from  the  top  of  the 
bodice  to  the  bottom  of  the  skirt.  She  looked  fresh 
and  young.  She  had  a  finely  cut  face,  and  a  small  head, 
by  which  principally  she  had  charmed  Svirski  at  the 
beginning  of  their  more  intimate  acquaintance.  Her 
plump  shoulders  had,  especially  at  the  edge  of  the  dress, 
the  appearance  and  transparency  of  mother-of-pearl ;  but 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  413 

her  arms  from  the  elbow  to  the  wrist  were  slightly  red- 
dened, seemingly  rough  ;  that,  however,  merely  heightened 
the  impression  of  their  nakedness.  In  general,  she  was 
radiant  with  gladness,  good-humor,  and  that  brilliancy 
which  women  have  when  they  are  happy. 

Among  the  invited  guests,  besides  Svirski  and  De 
Sinten,  came  the  old  councillor,  Kladzki,  with  his  nephew 
Sigismund,  a  young  man  of  no  great  social  experience, 
but  forward,  whose  eyes  gleamed  at  Pani  Elzen  too  ex- 
pressively, and  who  did  not  know  how  to  conceal  what  he 
felt;  next,  was  Prince  Valerian  Porzetski,  a  man  forty 
years  of  age,  bald,  with  a  large  head  coming  to  a  point 
at  the  top  like  that  of  an  Aztec ;  Pan  Vyadrovski,  rich 
and  sarcastic,  the  owner  of  oil  wells  in  Galicia,  a  lover 
of  art  and  a  dilettante ;  finally,  Kresovich,  a  student,  the 
temporary  tutor  of  Romulus  and  Remus,  a  man  whom 
Pani  Elzen  invited  because  Svirski  liked  his  fanatical 
face. 

The  point  with  the  lady  was  always,  and  more  espe- 
cially on  that  day,  to  have  an  "  intellectual "  salon,  as 
she  expressed  it.  She  could  not,  however,  turn  the  con- 
versation at  first  from  local  gossip  and  the  happenings  of 
the  Casino,  which  Vyadrovski  called  the  "  Slav  world,"  — 
more  of  Slav  speech  was  heard  there,  he  said,  than  any 
other.  Vyadrovski's  life  in  Monte  Carlo  was  spent 
generally  in  ridiculing  his  fellow-countrymen  and  the 
younger  Slav  brothers.  That  was  a  hobby  which  he 
mounted  gladly,  and  galloped  without  rest.  So  he  began 
at  once  to  relate  how,  two  days  before,  there  remained 
in  the  "  Cercle  de  la  Me'diterrane'e,"  at  six  in  the  morning, 
seven  persons,  all  of  Slav  blood. 

"  We  are  born  thus,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  hostess. 
"In  other  countries  people  count:  Nine,  ten,  eleven, 
twelve,  etc. ;  but  every  real  Slav  says,  in  spite  of  himself : 


414  ON   THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

Nine,  ten,  knave,  queen,  king  —  Yes ;  to  the  Cornice 
comes  the  cream  of  our  society,  and  here  they  make 
cheese  of  it." 

Prince  Valerian,  of  peaked  head,  announced  now,  in 
the  tone  of  a  man  who  is  discovering  new  truths,  that 
every  passion  which  exceeds  the  measure  is  ruinous, 
but  that  to  the  "  Cercle  de  la  Me'diterrande "  belonged 
many  foreigners  of  distinction  with  whom  it  was  useful 
and  worth  while  to  make  acquaintance.  It  was  possible 
to  serve  one's  country  everywhere.  For  instance,  he  had 
met  there  three  days  before  an  Englishman,  a  friend  of 
Chamberlain,  who  had  inquired  of  him  touching  our 
country ;  and  he  described  on  a  visiting-card  the  economic 
and  political  condition  in  general,  and  the  social  aspira- 
tions in  particular.  Beyond  doubt,  the  card  would  go, 
if  not  to  Chamberlain,  who  is  not  here,  to  Salisbury,  and 
that  would  be  better.  Probably,  also,  he  would  meet 
Salisbury  at  the  ball  which  the  French  admiral  is  to 
give,  and  during  which  the  whole  "  Formidable "  would 
be  illuminated  d  giorno  by  electricity. 

Kresovich,  who  was  not  only  a  consumptive,  but  a 
man  of  another  style  of  thought,  a  man  who  hated  that 
society  in  which  he  was  forced  to  appear  as  the  tutor  of 
Eomulus  and  Eemus,  snorted  ironically  and  as  venom- 
ously as  a  hyena  when  he  heard  of  this  visiting- 
card.  Pani  Elzen,  wishing  to  turn  attention  from  him, 
said,  • — 

"  But  here  people  are  putting  forward  the  wonders  of 
electricity.  I  have  heard  that  the  whole  road  from  Nice 
to  Marseilles  will  be  lighted  by  electricity." 

"An  engineer,  Ducloz,  drew  up  such  a  plan,"  said 
Svirski;  "but  he  died  two  months  ago.  He  was  such 
a  fanatical  electrician  that  very  likely  he  desired  in 
his  will  to  have  his  grave  lighted  by  electricity." 


ON   THE   BRIGHT    SHORE.  415 

"Then,"  said  Vyadrovski,  "he  should  have  on  his 
tomb  the  inscription,  0  Lord,  grant  him  eternal  rest,  and 
may  electric  light  shine  on  him  for  the  ages  of  ages. 
Amen ! " 

But  Kladzki,  the  old  councillor,  attacked  Vyadrovski, 
and  said  that  he  was  trifling  with  grave  subjects  which 
were  beyond  witticism ;  then  he  attacked  the  whole  Ri- 
viera. "  All,"  said  he,  "  from  people  to  things,  is  simply 
a  show  and  a  jest.  Everywhere  they  pretend  to  be 
'  marquises,  counts,  and  viscounts ; '  but  they  are  really 
on  the  watch  to  snatch  away  handkerchiefs.  As  to 
comfort,  it  is  the  same.  In  my  office  at  Veprkoviski, 
five  rooms  could  be  put,  each  as  large  as  the  little  den 
which  they  have  given  me  in  the  hotel.  The  doctors 
have  sent  me  to  Nice  for  fresh  air ;  but,  as  God  lives,  that 
Promenade  des  Anglais  has  the  vile  odor  of  a  lodging- 
house  in  Cracow ;  my  nephew  Sigisinund  can  testify  to 
this." 

But  Sigismund's  eyes  were  crawling  out  of  his  head  as 
he  looked  at  Pani  Elzen's  arms ;  and  he  did  not  hear  what 
his  uncle  wras  saying. 

"Bemove  to  Bordighieri,"  said  Svirski.  "Italian  dirt 
is  artistic  at  least ;  while  French  dirt  is  vile." 

"  Still  you  are  living  in  Nice  ? " 

"  I  am,  because  I  could  not  find  a  studio  beyond  Venti- 
miglia.  Were  I  to  move,  I  should  prefer  Antibes,  on 
the  other  side." 

When  he  had  said  this,  he  looked  at  Pani  Elzen.  At 
the  corners  of  her  mouth  a  faint  smile  appeared,  and 
she  dropped  her  eyes.  Next  moment,  however,  wishing, 
as  it  seemed,  to  turn  conversation  toward  art,  she  spoke 
of  Eumpelmayer's  exhibition,  and  of  the  new  pictures 
which  she  had  seen  two  days  before,  and  which  the 
French  journalist,  Krauss,  called  impressionist-decadent. 


416  ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

At  this  Vyadrovski  raised  his  fork,  and  inquired,  in  the 
tones  of  a  Pyrrho,  — 

"What  are  the  decadents  in  general?" 

"  From  a  certain  point  of  view,  they  are  people  who  ask 
of  art  itself  the  various  sauces  with  which  it  is  served," 
answered  Svirski. 

Prince  Valerian,  however,  felt  wounded  by  what  old 
Kladzki  had  said  of  "  marquises,  counts,  and  viscounts." 

"Even  the  adventurers  who  come  here,"  said  he, 
"  are  high-class  adventurers,  and  are  not  satisfied  with 
snatching  the  handkerchief  from  your  nose.  Here  one 
meets  corsairs  of  grand  style.  But  besides  them  come 
all  who  are  richest,  or  most  exquisite  in  the  world. 
Here  financial  magnates  meet  people  of  high  blood  on 
equal  footing ;  this  is  especially  good,  for  let  the  world 
refine  itself !  Pan  Kladzki  should  read  such  a  book 
as  the  '  Idylle  Tragique,'  and  be  convinced  that,  in  ad- 
dition to  suspected  people,  the  highest  social  spheres 
come  here  also  —  precisely  such  as  we  shall  meet  on  the 
'  Formidable,'  which  for  that  occasion  is  to  be  lighted 
h  giorno  by  electricity." 

Prince  Valerian  forgot  evidently  that  he  had  given  in- 
formation already  about  the  lighting  of  the  "  Formidable." 
In  fact,  it  was  not  the  subject  of  conversation  just  then ; 
and  immediately  they  began  to  talk  of  the  "  Idylle  Tra- 
gique." Young  Kladzki,  mentioning  the  hero  of  that 
novel,  said :  "  It  was  good  enough  for  such  a  fellow,  since 
lie  was  dunce  enough  to  give  up  a  woman  for  a  friend  ;  he, 
Kladzki,  would  not  do  that  for  ten  friends,  he  would  not 
for  his  born  brother,  since  that  was  his  property,  and  his 
own."  But  Vyadrovski  interrupted  him ;  for  French 
novels,  with  which  he  was  carried  away,  were  another 
hobby  of  his  on  which  he  cultivated  a  higher  school  of 
galloping  over  authors  and  their  productions. 


ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE.  417 

"But  what  enrages  me  to  the  utmost,"  said  he,  "is 
this  sale  of  painted  foxes  for  foxes  of  genuine  color.  If 
those  gentlemen  are  realists,  let  them  write  the  truth. 
Have  you  turned  attention  to  their  heroines  ?  A  tragedy 
begins,  very  well !  the  lady  struggles  with  herself, 
'  wrestles  dreadfully  '  through  half  a  volume  ;  but,  as  God 
lives,  I  know  from  the  first  page  what  will  be,  how  all 
will  end.  What  a  bore,  and  how  often  has  it  happened 
before  this !  I  accept  those  heroines,  and  their  place  in 
literature  too ;  but  let  no  one  sell  them  to  me  for  tragic 
vestals.  What  is  the  tragedy  for  me,  when  I  know  that 
such  rent  souls  have  had  lovers  before  the  tragedy,  and 
will  have  others  after  it !  They  will  '  struggle  '  again  as 
they  have  done  already,  and  everything  will  end  in  the 
same  fashion.  What  a  lie,  what  a  loss  of  moral  sense, 
of  truth,  what  a  turning  of  heads !  And  to  think  that 
among  us  this  stuff  is  read,  this  merchandise  accepted  as 
genuine ;  that  these  drawing-room  farces  are  taken  as 
tragedies,  and  received  as  important !  In  this  way,  all 
difference  between  an  honest  woman  and  a-  harlot  is 
effaced;  and  a  society  position  is  created  for  puppets 
without  a  nest  of  their  own.  This  French  gilding 
suits  our  puppets,  and  they  exhibit  themselves  under 
the  authority  of  such  and  such  authors.  There  is  no 
principle  in  it,  no  character,  no  feeling  of  duty,  no  moral 
sense ;  there  is  nothing  in  it  but  false  aspirations,  and 
false  posing  for  a  psychological  riddle." 

Vyadrovski  was  too  intelligent  not  to  understand  that 
by  speaking  in  this  fashion  he  was  throwing  stones  at  Pani 
Elzen ;  but,  being  thoroughly  malevolent,  he  spoke  so 
purposely.  Pani  Elzen  listened  to  his  words  with  all 
the  greater  vexation,  because  there  was  truth  in  them. 
Svirski  was  burning  with  a  wish  to  answer  rudely ;  but 
he  knew  that  he  could  not  take  Vyadrovski's  words  as 


418  ON   THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

having  any  application,  so  he  chose  to  give  a  new  turn 
to  the  conversation. 

"  In  French  novels,  something  else  has  always  struck 
me,"  said  he ;  "  namely,  this,  that  it  is  a  world  of  bar- 
ren women.  In  other  countries,  when  two  people  fall 
in  love,  either  according  to  law  or  outside  of  it,  the 
result  is  a  child ;  but  in  French  novels,  no  one  has  chil- 
dren. How  strange  this  is !  It  does  not  seem  to  occur 
to  those  gentlemen  who  write  novels  that  love  cannot 
remain  without  results." 

"As  the  society,  so  the  literature,"  said  old  Kladzki. 
"It  is  known  that  in  France  population  is  decreasing. 
In  the  upper  society  a  child  —  is  an  exception  ! " 

"  Mais  c'est  plus  commode  et  plus  elegant,"  answered 
De  Sinten. 

"  The  literature  of  sated  idlers  who  must  disappear 
with  it,"  said  Kresovich,  who  had  snorted  previously. 

"  What  do  you  say  ? "  inquired  De  Sinten. 

The  student  turned  his  resolute  face  to  the  baron,  "  I 
say  the  literature  of  sated  idlers ! " 

Prince  Valerian  discovered  America  a  second  time. 
"  Every  class  has  its  beauties  and  its  pleasures,"  said  he. 
"  I  have  two  passions  :  politics  and  photography." 

But  the  dinner  was  nearing  its  end ;  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  later  all  passed  into  the  adjoining  room  for  coffee. 
It  seemed  to  Pani  Elzen  that  a  certain  negligence  ought 
to  please  Svirski,  as  he  was  an  artist  and  somewhat  of 
a  gypsy,  so  she  lighted  a  very  slender  cigarette,  and, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  easy-chair,  crossed  her  legs. 
But,  being  of  comparatively  low  stature,  and  a  trifle 
broad  in  the  hips,  she  raised  her  dress  too  high  by  this 
posture.  Young  Kladzki  dropped  his  match  immedi- 
ately, and  looked  for  it  so  long  that  his  uncle  punched 
him  slightly  in  the  side,  and  whispered  angrily,  — 


ON  THE  BRIGHT  SHORE.  419 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of ;  where  are  you  ? " 

The  young  man  straightened  himself  and  said  in  a 
whisper,  "  That  is  what  I  do  not  know." 

Pani  Elzen  knew  from  experience  that  even  well-bred 
men,  when  they  can  take  some  advantage,  become  rude 
in  presence  of  women,  especially  if  those  women  are  un- 
protected. This  time  she  had  not  observed  young 
Kladzki's  movement ;  but  when  she  saw  the  unrestrained 
and  almost  cynical  smile  with  which  he  answered  his 
uncle,  she  felt  convinced  that  he  was  talking  of  her. 
And  in  her  heart  she  had  a  contempt  for  all  that  society 
except  Svirski  and  Kresovich,  the  tutor,  whom  she  sus- 
pected of  being  in  love  with  her,  notwithstanding  his 
hatred  for  women  of  her  circle. 

But  that  evening  Vyadrovski  brought  her  almost  to 
a  nervous  attack;  for  it  seemed  as  though  for  what  he 
had  eaten  and  drunk,  he  had  undertaken  to  poison  every 
spoonful  of  her  coffee,  and  every  moment  of  her  time. 
He  spoke  generally,  and  as  it  were  objectively,  of  women, 
without  crossing  the  bounds  of  politeness,  but  at  the 
bottom  of  his  words  there  was  not  only  cynicism,  but  a 
completeness  of  allusion  to  Pani  Elzen's  character  and 
social  position,  which  was  simply  offensive,  and  to  her, 
immensely  disagreeable,  especially  before  Svirski,  who 
both  suffered  and  was  impatient. 

A  stone  fell  from  her  heart,  therefore,  when  at  last  the 
guests  went  away  and  only  the  artist  remained. 

"  Aa ! "  exclaimed  she,  breathing  deeply,  "  I  feel  the 
beginning  of  neuralgia,  and  I  know  not  myself  what  is 
happening  to  me." 

"  They  tormented  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes  —  and  more  than  tormented  ! " 

"  Why  do  you  invite  them  ? " 

She  approached  him  feverishly,  as  if  losing  control  of 
her  nerves,  and  said,  — 


420  ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

"  Sit  quietly,  do  not  move  !  I  cannot  tell  —  perhaps 
I  destroy  myself  in  your  eyes ;  but  I  need  this  as  a  medi- 
cine. Oh,  yes  !  To  remain  a  moment  in  this  way  at  the 
side  of  an  honest  man  —  a  moment  in  this  way  !  " 

All  at  once  her  eyelids  were  bedewed  abundantly ;  but 
she  put  her  finger  to  her  lips  time  after  time  as  a  sign 
not  to  speak,  and  to  let  her  remain  silent. 

But  Svirski  was  moved,  since  he  had  always  grown  soft 
as  wax  at  sight  of  woman's  tears.  The  confidence  which 
she  showed  him,  conquered  the  man  and  filled  his  heart 
with  tenderness.  He  understood  that  the  decisive  mo- 
ment had  come,  so,  putting  his  arm  around  her,  he  said, — 

"  Stay  with  me  forever ;  give  me  a  right  to  yourself." 

Pani  Elzen  made  no  answer ;  great  tears  were  flowing 
from  her  eyes,  but  they  were  silent  tears. 

"  Be  mine,"  repeated  Svirski. 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  other  shoulder,  and  nestled  up 
to  him  as  a  child  to  its  mother. 

Svirski,  bending  over,  kissed  her  forehead,  then  he  fell 
to  kissing  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  gradually  the  flame 
seized  him ;  in  a  moment  he  caught  her  in  his  athletic 
arms,  pressed  her  with  all  his  strength  to  his  breast,  and 
sought  her  lips  with  his  lips.  But  she  defended  herself. 

"  No  !  no  ! "  said  she,  with  panting  voice.  "  Thou  art 
not  like  others — later !  No  !  no !  Have  pity  !" 

Svirski  held  her  in  his  embrace ;  she  bent  backward ; 
at  that  moment  he  was  just  like  other  men ;  happily 
for  Pani  Elzen,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  They 
sprang  apart. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  inquired  Pani  Elzen,  impatiently. 

The  gloomy  head  of  Kresovich  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  he,  in  a  broken  voice.  "  Romulus  is 
coughing,  and  perhaps  he  has  -a  fever;  I  thought  it 
necessary  to  inform  you." 


ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE.  421 

Svirski  stood  up. 

"  Should  you  not  send  for  a  doctor  ? " 

Pani  Elzen  had  recovered  her  usual  self-possession 
already. 

"I  thank  you,"  said  she;  "if  necessary,  we  will  send 
from  the  hotel ;  but  first  I  must  see  the  boy.  Thank 
you!  but  I  must  go  —  so  till  to-morrow  !  Thank  you  !" 

And  she  stretched  her  hand  to  him,  which  Svirski 
raised  to  his  lips. 

"Till  to-morrow  —  and  every  day.  Till  we  meet 
again ! " 

Pani  Elzen,  when  alone  with  Kresovich,  looked  at  him 
inquiringly,  and  asked,  — 

"  What  is  the  trouble  with  Eomulus  ?  " 

The  student  grew  paler  than  usual,  and  answered  al- 
most rudely,  — 

"  Nothing." 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  asked  she,  with  a  frown. 

"  It  means  —  dismiss  me,  otherwise  —  I  shall  go 
mad!"  And  turning  he  walked  out.  Pani  Elzen  stood 
for  a  moment  with  flashes  of  anger  in  her  eyes  and  with 
wrinkled  brows;  but  her  forehead  smoothed  gradually. 
She  was  thirty-five  years  of  age,  it  is  true,  but  here  was 
a  fresh  proof  that  no  man  had  thus  far  been  able  to 
resist  her.  Next  moment  she  went  to  the  mirror  as  if 
to  seek  in  it  confirmation  of  that  thought. 

Svirski  returned  to  Nice  in  a  car  without  other  pas- 
sengers ;  he  raised  to  his  face  from  moment  to  moment  a 
hand  which  retained  the  odor  of  heliotrope.  He  felt  dis- 
turbed, but  also  happy;  and  the  blood  was  rushing  to  his 
head,  for  his  nostrils  were  inhaling  Pani  Elzen's  favorite 
perfume. 


422  ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 


CHAPTEE   III. 

NEXT  morning  the  artist  woke  with  a  heavy  head,  as 
if  after  a  night  spent  in  drinking,  and,  moreover, 
with  great  alarm  in  his  heart.  When  light  falls  in  the 
daytime  on  theatrical  decorations,  that  which  seemed 
magic  the  night  before  looks  a  daub.  In  life,  the 
same  thing  takes  place.  Nothing  unexpected  had  hap- 
pened to  Svirski.  He  knew  that  he  had  been  going 
toward  this,  that  he  must  go  to  it ;  but  now,  when  the 
latch  had  fallen,  he  had  a  feeling  of  incomprehensible 
fear.  He  understood  that  as  late  as  yesterday  he  might 
have  withdrawn  ;  and  regret  took  possession  of  him.  In 
vain  did  he  repeat  to  himself  that  it  was  not  the  time 
for  reasoning.  Various  reproaches  which  formerly  he 
had  made  to  himself  regarding  Pani  Elzen,  and  above  all 
regarding  marriage  with  her,  returned  to  him  with  re- 
newed force.  The  voice  which  formerly  had  whispered 
unceasingly  in  his  ear,  "  Do  not  be  a  fool ! "  began  to  cry, 
"  Thou  art  a  fool ! "  And  he  could  not  put  down  this 
voice  either  by  arguments,  or  by  repeating,  "  It  has  hap- 
pened ! "  for  reason  told  him  that  the  folly  had  become  a 
fact,  and  that  the  cause  lay  in  his  own  weakness. 

At  that  thought  shame  possessed  him.  For  had  he 
been  young,  he  would  have  had  youth  as  his  excuse. 
Had  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  that  lady  on  the 
Eiviera,  had  he  heard  nothing  of  her  before,  his  igno- 
rance of  her  character  and  her  past  would  have  justi- 
fied him ;  but  he  had  met  her  before.  He  had  seen  her 
rarely,  it  is  true ;  but  he  had  heard  enough,  when  people 
in  Warsaw  spoke  more  of  her  than  of  any  one  else.  She 
was  called  there  the  "  Wonder  woman,"  and  humorists 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  423 

had  sharpened  their  wits  on  her,  as  a  knife  is  sharpened 
on  a  grindstone  ;  this,  however,  had  not  prevented  men 
from  crowding  to  her  salon.  Women,  though  less  favor- 
able, received  her  also  out  of  regard  for  the  remoter  or 
nearer  relationship  which  connected  her  with  the  society 
of  the  city.  Some,  especially  those  whose  interest  it  was 
that  opinion  in  general  should  not  be  too  strict,  even 
rose  in  defence  of  the  beautiful  widow.  Others,  less 
yielding,  still  did  not  dare  to  close  their  doors  against 
her,  for  the  reason  that  they  had  not  courage  to  take 
this  course  earlier  than  others.  Once  a  local  comedy 
writer,  on  hearing  some  one  reckon  Paiii  Elzen  among 
the  "  demi-monde,"  answered,  "  She  is  neither  the  half 
world  nor  the  whole  world,  she  is  rather  three- 
quarters." 

But  since  everything  in  great  cities  is  effaced,  Pani 
Elzen's  position  was  effaced  in  time.  Her  friends  said, 
"  We  cannot,  of  course,  ask  too  much  of  Helena  ;  but 
she  has  her  own  really  good  traits."  And,  without 
noting  it,  they  conceded  greater  freedom  to  her  than 
to  other  women.  At  one  time  it  was  stated  by  some  one 
that  for  a  period  before  the  death  of  her  husband,  she 
had  not  lived  with  him  ;  at  another  it  was  whispered 
that  she  was  rearing  Romulus  and  Remus  like  jesters,  or 
that  she  had  no  thought  for  them  of  any  kind ;  but  to 
such  malevolent  statements  attention  would  have  been 
turned  only  if  Pani  Elzen  had  been  a  woman  of  less 
beauty  and  less  wealth,  or  had  kept  a  less  hospitable 
house.  Among  themselves,  men  had  not  been  backward 
in  speaking  of  the  "Wonder  woman," — not  even  those 
who  were  in  love  with  her ;  they  talked  of  her  through 
jealousy ;  only  those  were  silent  who,  at  the  given 
moment,  were  fortunate,  or  who  wished  to  pass  as  more 
fortunate  than  others.  In  general,  malice  was  such  that 


424  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

according  to  report  Pani  Helena  had  one  man  for  the 
winter  in  the  city,  and  another  for  the  summer. 

Svirski  knew  all  this.  He  knew  it  better  than  other 
men,  for  an  acquaintance  of  his  in  Warsaw,  a  certain 
Pani  Bronich,  a  near  relative  of  the  beautiful  widow, 
told  him  of  an  event  painful  to  Pani  Elzen,  which  ended 
in  a  grievous  illness.  "  What  that  poor  Helena  suffered, 
God  alone  knows  ;  but  perhaps  in  His  mercy  He  brought 
it  about  before  the  time,  so  as  to  save  her  from  greater 
moral  suffering."  Svirski,  however,  admitted  that  this 
"  event  before  the  time  "  might  be  a  pure  invention  ;  still 
it  was  less  possible  for  him  than  for  others  to  be  deceived 
as  to  Pani  Elzen's  past,  and  least  of  all  was  it  possible  for 
him  to  believe  that  she  was  a  woman  to  whom  he  could 
confide  his  peace  with  safety. 

Still,  all  these  facts  roused  his  curiosity,  and  drew  him 
to  her  specially.  When  he  heard  of  her  presence  at. 
Monte  Carlo,  he  desired,  with  intentions  not  entirely 
honest,  perhaps,  to  approach  her  and  know  her  better. 
He  wanted  also,  as  an  artist,  to  analyze  the  charm  exer- 
cised on  men  by  that  woman,  who  was  talked  of  every- 
where. 

But  he  met  only  disenchantment  from  the  first.  She 
was  beautiful  and  physically  attractive ;  but  he  saw  that 
she  lacked  goodness  and  kindness  toward  people.  In  her 
eyes  a  man  was  of  value  only  in  so  far  as  he  was  useful 
to  her  in  some  way.  Beyond  that,  she  was  as  in- 
different as  a  stone.  Svirski  did  not  note  in  her  either  any 
feeling  for  mental  life,  art,  or  literature.  She  took  from 
them  what  she  needed,  giving  nothing  in  return.  He, 
as  an  artist  and  a  man  of  thought,  understood  perfectly 
that  such  a  relation  betrays  at  the  basis  of  things  a 
nature  which,  despite  all  elegant  semblances,  is  vain,  rude, 
and  barbarous.  But  to  him  women  of  that  kind  had 


ON  THE   BRIGHT    SHORE.  425 

been  known  from  of  old.  He  knew  that  they  impose  on 
the  world  by  a  certain  force  which  position  and  a  mighty 
merciless  egotism  confers.  Of  that  sort  of  creature,  it 
had  been  said  often  in  his  presence,  "  A  cold,  but  clever 
woman."  He  had  always  thought  of  such  persons  without 
respect  and  with  contempt.  They  were  to  his  mind 
devoid  not  only  of  lofty  spiritual  finish,  biit  of  intellect. 
Beasts  have  the  mind  which  snatches  everything  for 
itself,  and  leaves  nothing  to  others. 

In  Pani  Elzen,  as  in  Romulus  and  Eemus,  he  saw  a 
type  in  which  there  is  no  culture  below  the  surface ;  be- 
neath is  an  unknown  plebeian  depth.  Beyond  that,  he 
was  struck  by  her  cosmopolitan  character.  She  was  like 
a  coin,  so  worn  that  one  could  hardly  discover  to  what 
country  it  belonged.  And  he  was  penetrated  by  disgust, 
not  only  as  a  man  of  qualities  opposite  to  hers,  but  also 
as  a  man  of  a  society  really  higher,  and  who  knew  that  in 
England,  for  instance,  or  France  or  Italy,  people  would 
not  deny  the  soil  from  which  they  had  grown  and  would 
look  with  contempt  on  cosmopolitan  twigs  without  a 
root. 

Vyadrovski  was  right  when  he  said  that  Romulus  and 
Remus  wTere  reared  like  commercial  travellers,  or  like 
porters  in  a  great  hotel.  It  was  known  universally  that 
Pani  Elzen's  father  possessed  a  title,  that  was  true ;  but 
her  grandfather  was  the  manager  of  an  estate ;  and  Svir- 
ski,  who  had  a  high  sense  of  humor,  thought  it  ridiculous 
that  these  great-grandsons  of  a  farm  bailiff  not  only  did 
not  know  Polish  well,  but  like  genuine  Parisians  could 
not  pronounce  r.  They  offended  him  too  in  his  charac- 
ter of  an  artist.  The  boys  were  good-looking,  even  beauti- 
ful ;  Svirski,  however,  felt,  with  his  subtle  artistic  sense, 
that  in  those  two  bird  skulls,  which  resembled  each  other, 
and  in  those  faces,  the  beauty  was  not  inherited  through  a 


426  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

series  of  generations,  but  was  as  if  by  accident,  by 
physical  chance,  which  had  come  from  their  twinship. 
In  vain  did  he  say  to  himself  that  their  mother  too  was 
beautiful;  the  feeling  adhered  to  him  always  that  that 
beauty  did  not  belong  to  the  mother  or  the  sons,  and  that 
in  this,  as  in  the  question  of  property,  they  were  parvenus. 
It  was  only  after  long  intercourse  with  them  that  this 
impression  was  weakened. 

Pani  Elzen,  from  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance, 
commenced  to  prefer  Svirski  and  to  attract  him.  He 
was  of  more  value  to  her  than  the  rest  of  her  acquaint- 
ances ;  he  bore  a  good  family  name ;  he  had  considerable 
property  and  a  great  reputation.  He  lacked  youth,  it  is 
true;  but  Pani  Elzen  herself  was  thirty-five  years  of  age, 
and  his  form  of  a  Hercules  might  take  the  place  of 
youth.  Finally,  for  a  woman  who  had  been  mentioned 
without  respect,  to  marry  him  meant  the  recovery  of 
honor  and  position.  She  might  suspect  him  of  other 
inclinations  and  a  fickle  disposition ;  but  he  possessed 
kindness  and  —  like  every  artist  —  a  certain  basis  of 
simplicity  in  his  soul ;  hence,  Pani  Elzen  thought  herself 
able  to  bend  him  to  her  will.  In  the  end  of  ends  she  was 
influenced  not  by  calculation  only,  but  by  this  too,  that 
as  he  let  himself  be  attracted,  he  attracted  her.  At  last 
she  said  to  herself  that  she  loved  him,  and  she  even 
believed  that  she  did. 

With  him  that  happened  which  happens  to  many,  even 
perfectly  intelligent  people.  His  reason  ceased  to  act 
when  his  inclinations  were  roused,  or,  worse  still,  it  en- 
tered their  service;  instead  of  striving  to  conquer,  it 
undertook  to  find  arguments  to  justify  them.  In  this 
fashion  Svirski,  who  knew  and  understood  every  weak 
point,  began  to  make  excuses,  twisting,  mollifying,  explain- 
ing. "  It  is  true,"  thought  he,  "  that  neither  her  nature 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  427 

nor  her  conduct,  so  far,  give  guarantees ;  but  who  can  say 
that  she  is  not  tortured  by  her  present  life,  that  she  is  not 
yearning  with  all  her  soul  for  another?  In  her  action 
there  is  undoubtedly  much  coquetry ;  but  again  who  will 
say  that  she  has  not  developed  that  coquetry  because  she 
has  fallen  in  love  with  me  sincerely  ?  To  imagine  that  a 
person,  even  filled  with  faults  and  failings,  has  no  good 
side,  is  childish.  What  a  medley  is  the  human  soul ! 
There  is  merely  need  of  proper  conditions  to  develop  the 
good  side,  and  the  bad  will  disappear.  Pani  Elzen  has 
passed  her  first  youth.  What  stupidity  to  suppose  that 
no  voice  in  her  is  calling  for  calm,  rest,  honor,  and  healing. 
And  just  for  these  reasons  perhaps  a  woman  like  her 
values  more  than  others  an  honest  man,  who  would  make 
her  feel  certain  of  all  things."  This  last  thought  seemed 
to  him  uncommonly  profound  and  appropriate.  Formerly 
sound  judgment  had  declared  that  Pani  Elzen  wanted  to 
catch  him,  but  now  he  answered,  "  She  is  right ;  we  may 
say  of  any  woman,  even  one  of  the  most  ideal  character, 
who  wishes  to  unite  herself  to  a  man  whom  she  loves,  that 
she  wants  to  catch  him."  As  to  the  future,  the  hope  also 
of  children  quieted  him.  He  thought  that  he  would  have 
something  to  love,  and  she  would  be  obliged  to  break 
with  vain,  social  life,  for  she  would  not  have  time  for  it; 
and  before  children  could  grow  up,  her  youth  would 
have  passed ;  after  that  her  house  would  attract  her  more 
than  society.  Finally,  he  said,  "  In  every  case  life  must 
arrange  itself ;  before  old  age  comes  I  shall  live  a  number 
of  years  with  an  interesting  and  beautiful  woman,  near 
whom  every  week  day  will  seem  a  festival." 

And  those  "  few  years  "  became  in  fact  the  main  charm 
for  him.  There  was  something  humiliating  for  Pani  Elzen 
in  this,  that  he  feared  no  extraordinary  event  for  the  single 
reason  that  her  youth,  and  therefore  possibilities,  must 


428  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

soon  pass.  He  did  not  confess  this  to  himself,  though 
it  was  the  basis  of  his  consolation ;  and  he  deceived 
himself,  as  is  ever  the  case  with  people  in  whom  reason 
has  become  the  pander  of  their  wishes. 

And  now,  after  the  event  of  the  previous  evening,  he 
woke  up  with  immense  alarm  and  disgust.  He  could  not 
avoid  thinking  of  two  things :  first,  that  if  any  man  had 
told  him  a  month  before  that  he  would  propose  to  Paui 
Elzen,  he  would  have  thought  that  man  an  idiot ; 
second,  that  the  charm  of  relations  with  her  which  lay  in 
uncertainty,  in  unfinished  words,  in  the  mutual  divining 
of  glances  and  thoughts,  in  the  deferred  confessions  and  in 
mutual  attractions,  was  greater  than  that  which  flowed 
from  the  present  condition.  For  Svirski  it  had  been 
more  agreeable  to  prepare  the  engagement  than  to  be 
engaged ;  now  he  was  thinking  that  if  in  the  same 

DO7  GJ 

proportion  it  would  be  less  agreeable  to  become  a  hus- 
band than  to  be  an  affianced,  deuce  take  his  fate.  At 
moments  the  feeling  that  he  was  bound,  that  he  had 
no  escape,  that,  whether  he  wished  or  not,  he  must  take 
Pani  Elzen  with  Komulus  and  Remits  into  his  life-boat 
seemed  to  him  simply  unendurable.  Not  wishing  then 
as  a  man  of  honor  to  curse  Pani  Elzen,  he  cursed  Romu- 
lus and  Remus,  with  their  lisping,  their  bird-like,  narrow 
heads  and  bird-like  skulls. 

"  I  have  had  my  cares,  but  really  I  have  been  as 
free  as  a  bird,  and  I  could  put  my  whole  soul  into  my 
pictures,"  said  he  to  himself ;  "  now,  Satan  knows  how  it 
will  be  !  "  And  the  cares  of  an  artist,  which  he  felt  at 
that  moment,  spoiled  his  good-humor,  though  they  turned 
his  thoughts  in  another  direction.  Pani  Elzen  and  the 
whole  marriage  question  receded  into  the  second  place; 
and  into  the  first  came  his  picture,  "  Sleep  and  Death," 
on  which  he  had  been  working  for  a  number  of  months, 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  429 

and  to  which  he  attributed  immense  importance.  This 
picture  was  a  protest  against  the  accepted  idea  of  death. 
Frequently,  while  talking  with  artists,  Svirski  had  been 
indignant  at  Christianity  because  it  had  brought  into  life 
and  art  the  representation  of  death  as  a  skeleton.  That 
seemed  to  him  the  greatest  injustice.  The  Greeks  had 
imagined  Thanatos :  as  a  winged  genius  ;  that  was  correct. 
What  can  be  more  disgusting  and  frightful  than  a 
skeleton  ?  If  death  be  represented  in  that  way,  it  should 
not  be  by  Christians,  who  conceive  death  as  a  return  to 
new  life.  According  to  Svirski,  the  present  idea  was  born 
in  the  gloomy  German  soul  which  created  Gothic  archi- 
tecture, —  solemn  and  majestic,  but  as  gloomy  as  if  the 
church  were  a  passage,  not  to  the  glories  of  heaven,  but  to 
underground  gulfs.  Svirski  had  marvelled  always  that 
the  Renaissance  had  not  recreated  the  symbol  of  death. 
Indeed,  if  Death  had  not  always  been  silent,  and  had  de- 
sired to  complain,  it  would  have  said,  "  Why  do  people 
depict  me  as  a  skeleton  ?  A  skeleton  is  just  what  I  have 
no  wish  to  be,  and  will  not  be  ! "  In  Svirski's  picture  the 
genius  of  Sleep  was  delivering,  mildly  and  quietly,  the  body 
of  a  maiden  to  the  genius  of  Death,  who,  bending  down, 
extinguished  in  silence  the  flame  of  a  lamp  burning  at 
her  head. 

Svirski  when  painting  had  said  to  himself,  "  Oh,  what 
wonderful  silence  there  is  here ! "  and  he  wanted  that 
silence  to  appear  from  the  lines,  the  form,  the  expression, 
and  the  color.  He  thought  also  that  if  he  could  convey 
that  feeling,  and  if  the  picture  could  interpret  itself,  the 
work  would  be  both  new  and  uncommon.  He  had  another 
object  also :  following  the  general  current  of  the  time,  he 
had  convinced  himself  that  painting  should  avoid  literary 
ideas ;  but  he  understood  that  there  was  an  immense 

1  Death. 


430  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

difference  between  renouncing  literary  ideas,  and  a  passion- 
less reflection  of  the  external  world  as  is  shown  in  photo- 
graphic plates.  Form,  color,  stain — and  nothing  more! 
as  if  the  duty  of  an  artist  were  to  destroy  in  himself  the 
thinking  essence  !  He  recollected  that  whenever  he  had 
seen  pictures  by  English  artists,  for  example,  he  had  been 
impressed,  first  of  all,  by  the  mental  elevation  of  those 
artists.  It  was  evident  from  their  canvases  that  they 
were  masters  of  a  lofty  mental  culture,  greatly  developed 
intellects,  thinking  deeply,  often  even  learned.  In  Poles, 
on  the  contrary,  he  saw  always  'something  which  was 
directly  the  opposite.  With  the  exception  of  a  few,  or 
at  best  of  a  small  number,  the  generality  was  composed 
of  men  capable,  but  lacking  thought,  men  of  uncommonly 
small  development,  and  devoid  of  all  culture.  They  lived, 
nourished  somewhat  by  crumbs  of  doctrines  falling  from 
the  French  table,  and  crumbs  which  had  lost  much  of  their 
savor.  These  artists  did  not  admit  for  a  moment  that  it 
was  possible  to  think  out  anything  original  touching  art, 
and  especially  to  produce  original  creations  in  a  Polish 
style.  To  Svirski,  it  was  clear,  also,  that  a  doctrine  which 
enjoins  absence  of  thought  must  please  their  hearts.  To 
bear  the  title  of  artist,  and  at  the  same  time  be  mentally  a 
minor,  is  convenient.  To  read,  know,  think  —  deuce  take 
such  toil ! 

Svirski  thought  that  if  even  a  landscape  is  simply  a 
state  of  soul,  that  soul  should  be  capable  not  only  of  the 
moods  of  a  Matsek  (a  peasant),  but  should  be  subtle,  sen- 
sitive, developed,  and  expanded.  He  had  quarrelled  about 
this  with  his  comrades,  and  had  discussed  with  them 
passionately.  "  I  do  not  require  you,"  said  he,  "  to  paint 
as  well  as  the  French,  the  English,  or  the  Spanish  —  I 
demand  that  you  paint  better  !  Above  all,  that  you  paint 
in  your  own  style ;  whoso  does  not  strive  for  this  should 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  431 

make  copper  kettles."  He  showed,  therefore,  that  if  a 
picture  represents  a  stack  of  hay,  or  hens  scratching  in  a 
yard,  or  a  potato  field,  or  horses  at  pasture,  or  a  corner 
of  sleeping  water  in  a  pond,  there  should,  above  all,  be  a 
soul  in  it ;  hence  he  put  into  his  pictures  as  much  of  his 
own  self  as  he  could,  and  besides  he  "  confessed  himself  " 
in  other  pictures,  the  last  of  which  was  to  be  Hypnos  and 
Thanatos  (Sleep  and  Death). 

The  two  geniuses  were  almost  finished ;  but  he  had  no 
success  with  the  head  of  the  maiden.  Svirski  understood 
that  she  must  be  not  only  beautiful,  but  possess  great  in- 
dividuality. Models  came  who  were  really  good,  but  not 
sufficiently  individual.  Madame  Lageat,  at  whose  house 
the  artist  had  taken  his  studio,  and  who  was  an  old  ac- 
quaintance, had  promised  to  find  him  one,  but  the  work 
advanced  slowly.  Some  new  model  was  to  appear  that 
morning ;  but  she  had  not  come,  though  it  was  eleven 
o'clock. 

All  this,  combined  with  his  yesterday's  proposal,  caused 
Svirski  to  be  in  doubt  touching  not  only  his  own  peace  of 
mind,  but  his  artistic  future  in  general,  and  his  picture 
in  particular.  Hypnos  seemed  to  him  at  that  moment 
somewhat  heavy,  Thanatos  somewhat  stupid.  Finally, 
he  thought  that  since  he  could  not  work,  he  would  better 
stroll  to  the  shore,  where  a  sight  of  the  sea  might  clear 
mind  and  soul. 

Just  at  the  moment  when  he  was  ready  to  go,  the  bell 
sounded  in  the  entrance,  and  next  appeared  in  the  studio 
two  Scottish  plaids,  two  heads  of  hair,  and  the  two  bird 
faces  of  Eomulus  and  Eemus ;  after  them  came  Kresovich, 
paler  than  usual  and  gloomier  than  ever. 

"  Good-day,  sir !  Good-day,  sir ! "  cried  the  two  boys. 
'•'  Mamma  sends  these  roses  and  invites  you  to  lunch." 

While  speaking,  they  shook  bunches  of  tea  and  moss 


432  ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

roses,  then  handed  them  to  Svirski,  and  began  to  run 
about  and  look  at  the  studio.  They  wondered  especially 
at  the  sketches  representing  naked  bodies,  and  were 
stopped  by  them,  for  they  stood  before  these  sketches, 
and,  punching  each  other  with  their  elbows,  said,  — 

"  Tiens ! " 

" Kegarde ! " 

Svirski,  who  was  angered  by  this,  looked  at  his  watch 
and  said,  — 

"  If  we  are  to  be  in  time  for  lunch,  we  must  go  at  once." 
He  took  his  hat,  and  they  went  out.  There  were  no  car- 
riages near  the  studio,  so  they  walked.  The  artist  passed 
on  with  Kresovich,  and  inquired,  — 

"  Well,  how  are  your  pupils  ? " 

Kresovich,  turning  to  him  his  malignant,  sneering  face, 
answered,  — 

"  My  pupils  ?  Oh,  nothing  !  They  are  as  healthy  as 
fish,  and  are  comfortable  in  their  Scottish  dresses.  There 
will  be  fun  with  them ;  but  not  for  me." 

"  Why  so  ? " 

"  Because  I  am  going  to-morrow." 

"  Why  so  ? "  asked  Svirski,  with  astonishment.  "  I 
knew  nothing  of  this  ;  no  one  mentioned  it.  I  am  sorry  ! " 

"  They  are  not  sorry,"  answered  Kresovich. 

"  Perhaps  they  do  not  understand." 

"  They  will  never  understand.  Neither  to-day,  nor  at 
any  time  in  their  lives  !  Never  ! " 

"  I  hope  that  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Svirski,  dryly ; 
"  but  in  every  case  it  is  unpleasant  for  me  to  hear  this." 

"  Yes  ! "  continued  the  student,  as  if  speaking  to  him- 
self. "  A  pity,  but  a  pity  for  time  lost.  What  do  they 
care  for  me,  or  I  for  them  ?  It  is  even  better  that  they 
should  be  as  they  will  be.  A  man  who  wishes  to  sow 
wheat  must  plough  in  the  grass  ;  and  the  weaker  it  is,  the 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  433 

easier  it  is  to  plough  it  in.  Much  might  be  said  of  this 
matter ;  but  it  is  not  worth  while,  especially  not  for  me. 
The  microbes  are  eating  me,  anyhow." 

"  Consumption  has  never  threatened  you.  Before  Pani 
Elzen  asked  you  to  teach,  she  questioned  the  doctor  about 
your  health  —  and  you  should  not  wonder  at  that,  for  she 
was  anxious  about  her  children.  The  doctor  assured  her 
that  there  was  no  danger." 

"  Of  course  not.  I  have  discovered 'a  certain  remedy 
against  microbes." 

"  What  is  the  remedy  ? " 

"  It  will  be  announced  in  the  papers.  Such  discoveries 
as  that  are  never  hidden  under  a  bushel." 

Svirski  glanced  at  Kresovich,  as  if  to  convince  himself 
that  the  man  was  not  speaking  in  a  fever;  meanwhile 
they  reached  the  station,  which  was  swarming  with 
people. 

The  visitors  at  Nice  were  going  as  usual  in  the  morning 
to  Monte  Carlo.  At  the  moment  when  Svirski  was  buy- 
ing a  ticket,  Vyadrovski  saw  him. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  he,  coming  up ;  "  you  are  going 
to  the  Mountain  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Have  you  a  ticket  ? " 

"  I  have  a  monthly  one.      The  train  will  be  crowded." 

"We  can  stand  in  a  passage." 

"  This  is  a  genuine  Exodus,  is  it  not  ?  And  each 
one  carries  his  mite  to  the  widow.  Good-morning,  Pan 
Kresovich !  What  say  you  of  life  in  this  place  ?  Make 
some  remark  from  the  point  of  view  of  your  party." 

Kresovich  blinked  as  if  unable  to  understand  what  was 
asked  of  him,  then  answered,  — 

"  I  enroll  myself  in  the  party  of  the  silent." 

"  I  know,  I  know  !  —  a  strong  party :  it  is  either  silent 
or  explosive,"  and  he  laughed. 

28 


434  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

Meanwhile  the  bell  rang,  and  there  was  need  of 
haste.  From  the  platform  came  the  call,  "  En  voiture  ! 
en  voiture ! "  The  next  moment  Svirski,  Kresovich, 
Vyadrovski,  and  the  two  boys  were  in  the  passage  of  a 
car. 

"  With  my  sciatica  this  is  pleasant !  "  said  Vyadrovski. 
"  See  what  is  going  on.  Useless  to  think  of  a  seat.  A 
regular  migration  of  nations  !  " 

Not  only  the  seats,  but  the  passages  were  crowded 
with  people  of  every  nationality.  Poles,  Kussians,  Eng- 
lish, French,  Germans,  all  going  with  a  rush  to  break  the 
bank,  which  daily  repulsed  and  broke  them,  as  a  cliff 
jutting  out  from  the  shore  breaks  a  wave  of  the  sea. 
Women  were  crowding  up  to  the  windows,  —  women  from 
whom  came  the  odor  of  iris  and  heliotrope.  The  sun  shone 
on  the  artificial  flowers  in  their  hats,  on  satin,  on  lace,  on 
false  and  genuine  diamond  ear-rings,  on  jet  glittering  like 
armor  on  projecting  bosoms  increased  with  india-rubber, 
on  blackened  brows,  and  on  faces  covered  with  powder  or 
rouge,  and  excited  with  the  hope  of  amusement  and  play. 
The  most  practised  eye  could  not  distinguish  the  demi- 
monde who  pretended  to  be  women  of  society,  from 
women  of  society  who  pretended  to  be  of  the  demi-monde. 
Men  with  violets  in  their  buttonholes  examined  that 
crowd  of  women  with  inquiring  and  insolent  gaze,  in- 
specting their  dresses,  their  faces,  their  arms,  and  their 
hips,  with  as  cool  minuteness  as  if  they  were  inspecting, 
for  example,  objects  set  out  for  sale.  There  was  in  that 
throng  a  kind  of  disorder  of  the  market-place,  and  a 
species  of  haste.  One  moment  the  train  rushed  into  the 
darkness  of  tunnels,  again  the  sun  glittered  in  the  win- 
dows, the  sky,  the  sea,  palm  groves,  olive  groves,  villas,  the 
white  almond-trees,  and  a  moment  later  night  embraced 
all  again.  Station  appeared  after  station.  New  crowds 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  435 

thronged  into  the  cars,  elegant,  exquisite,  hurrying  on,  as 
it  were,  to  a  great,  glad  festival. 

"  What  a  true  picture  of  a  breakneck  life ! "  said 
Vyadrovski. 

"  What  is  this  true  picture  ? " 

"  This  train.  I  might  philosophize  till  lunch-time  ;  but 
since  I  prefer  to  philosophize  after  lunch,  perhaps  you 
would  consent  to  lunch  with  me  ? " 

"  Excuse  me,"  answered  Svirski ;  "  I  am  invited  by  Pani 
Elzen." 

"  In  that  case  I  withdraw  ! "     And  he  smiled. 

The  supposition  that  Svirski  was  to  marry  Pani  Elzen 
had  not  entered  his  head  for  an  instant.  He  felt  even 
certain  that  the  artist  \yas  concerned  in  the  same  way  as 
others ;  but,  being  an  admirer  of  artists  in  general,  and  of 
Svirski  in  particular,  he  felt  glad  that  Svirski  was  beating 
his  opponents. 

"  I  represent  property,"  thought  he  ;  "  Prince  Valerian 
a  title;  young  Kladzki  youth;  and  De  Sinten  the  world 
of  fashionable  fools.  All  these,  especially  here,  possess 
no  small  value,  and  still  the  Wonder  woman  took  Svirski. 
She  is  surely  a  person  of  taste."  And  looking  at  the 
artist  he  began  to  mutter,  "  Jo  triumpe,  tu  moraris  aureos 
currus  —  " 

"  What  do  you  say  ? "  inquired  Svirski,  who  had  not 
heard  because  of  the  noise  of  the  train. 

"  Nothing !  A  hiccough  from  Horace.  I  will  say  that 
since  you  refuse  me,  I  will  give  a  breakfast  of  condolence 
to  myself,  De  Sinten,  Prince  Valerian,  and  Kladzki." 

"  Indeed  !  why  do  you  wish  to  condole  ? "  asked  Svirski, 
pushing  forward  suddenly,  and  looking  into  his  eyes 
almost  threateningly. 

"  For  the  loss  of  your  society,"  answered  Vyadrovski, 
eoolly.  "  But,  my  dear  sir,  what  cause  have  you  in  mind  ? " 


436  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

Svirski  shut  his  lips  and  gave  no  answer ;  but  he 
thought,  "  His  cap  burns  the  head  of  a  criminal.  Were 
I  to  marry  any  ordinary  girl  of  the  country,  the  idea 
would  never  have  come  to  my  head  that  any  man  could 
have  me  in  mind  when  speaking  with  irony  and  malice." 

Pani  Elzen,  freshened,  young,  and  comely,  was  waiting 
for  them  at  the  station.  It  was  evident  that  she  had 
come  only  the  moment  before,  for  she  breathed  hur- 
riedly, and  there  was  a  flush  on  her  face  which  might 
be  taken  for  emotion.  When  she  gave  Svirski  both 
hands  at  greeting,  Vyadrovski  thought,  — 

"Yes,  he  has  beaten  us  all  by  seven  lengths.  She 
seems  really  in  love." 

And  he  glanced  at  her  almost  favorably.  In  a  white 
flannel  robe,  with  sailor  collar,  and  with  gleaming  eyes, 
she  seemed  to  him,  in  spite  of  slight  traces  of  powder  on 
her  face,  younger  and  more  enchanting  than  ever.  For  a 
moment  he  was  sorry  that  he  was  not  the  happy  man 
whom  she  had  come  to  greet,  and  he  thought  that  the 
method  by  which  he  had  sought  her  favor,  through  rely- 
ing on  the  utterance  of  stinging  words,  was  stupid. 
But  he  comforted  himself  with  the  thought  of  how  he 
would  sneer  at  De  Sinten  and  the  other  "  distanced  men." 

After  the  greeting,  Svirski  thanked  her  for  the  roses ; 
and  she  listened  with  a  certain  vexation,  glancing  momen- 
tarily at  Vyadrovski,  as  if  ashamed  that  he  was  a  witness 
of  those  thanks. 

On  his  part,  Vyadrovski  understood  that  he  would  do 
better  to  leave  them.  But  all  went  together  again  in  a 
lift  up  the  mountain  on  which  was  the  Casino  and  the 
garden.  On  the  way,  Pani  Elzen  recovered  self-control 
thoroughly. 

"  To  lunch  at  once  !  to  lunch  ! "  said  she,  joyously.  "  I 
have  an  appetite  like  a  whale ! " 


OX   THE  BRIGHT   SHORE.  437 

Vyadrovski  muttered  to  himself  that  he  would  like, 
God  knows,  to  be  Jonah ;  but  he  did  not  say  this  aloud, 
thinking  that  were  Svirski  to  take  him  by  the  collar  and 
throw  him  out  of  the  lift,  as  he  deserved  for  his  joke,  he 
would  fall  too  far. 

In  the  garden  he  took  leave  of  them  at  once,  and  went 
his  way ;  but  he  looked  around  and  saw  Pani  Elzen  lean 
on  Svirski's  arm  and  whisper  something  in  his  ear. 

"  They  are  talking  of  the  dessert  after  lunch,"  thought  he. 

But  he  was  mistaken,  for,  turning  her  charming  head 
to  the  artist,  she  whispered,  — 

"  Does  Vyadrovski  know  ? " 

"  He  does  not,"  answered  Svirski.  "  I  met  him  only  at 
the  train." 

When  he  had  said  this  he  felt  a  certain  fear  at  the 
thought  that  Pani  Elzen  mentioned  the  betrothal  as  a 
fixed  fact,  and  that  he  would  have  to  announce  it  to 
every  one ;  but  the  proximity  of  Pani  Elzen,  her  beauty 
and  her  charms,  so  acted  on  him  that  he  grew  serene  and 
took  courage. 

The  lunch  was  eaten  with  Eomulus,  Eemus,  and  Kreso- 
vich,  who,  during  a  whole  hour,  said  not  one  word.  After 
black  coffee,  Pani  Elzen  permitted  her  boys  to  go  toward 
Kocca  Brune  under  guidance  of  their  tutor;  then  she 
asked  Svirski, — 

"  Which  do  you  prefer,  to  ride  or  to  walk  ? " 

"  If  you  are  not  tired,  I  would  rather  walk,"  answered  he. 

"  Very  well.  I  am  not  tired  at  all.  But  where  shall 
we  go  ?  Would  you  look  at  the  pigeon-shooting  ? " 

"Willingly,  but  we  shall  not  be  alone  there.  De 
Sinten  and  young  Kladzki  will  be  sure  to  exercise  after 
lunch." 

"Yes;  but  they  will  not  trouble  us.  When  pigeons 
are  the  question,  these  two  young  men  grow  deaf  and 


438  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

blind  to  all  else  that  happens  around  them.  For  that 
matter,  let  them  see  me  with  my  great  man ! " 

And,  turning  her  head,  she  looked  with  a  smile  into  his 
eyes : — 

"  Does  n't  the  great  man  wish  that  himself  ? " 

"  Of  course,  let  them  see  us ! "  answered  Svirski,  rais- 
ing her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  Then  we  will  go  down ;  I  like  well  enough  to  see  the 
shooting." 

"  Let  us  go." 

And  after  a  while  they  were  on  the  great  steps  leading 
to  the  shooting  gallery. 

"  How  bright  it  is  here !  How  pleasant  and  how  happy 
I  am  ! "  said  Pani  Elzen. 

Then,  though  there  was  no  one  near  them,  she  asked 
in  a  whisper,  "But  you?" 

"  My  light  is  with  me ! "  answered  he,  pressing  her 
arm  to  his  breast. 

And  they  began  to  descend.  The  day  was  uncom- 
monly bright,  the  air  golden  and  azure ;  the  sea  was  dark 
in  the  distance. 

"  We  will  stay  here  awhile,"  said  Pani  Elzen.  "  The 
cages  are  perfectly  visible  from  this  spot." 

Beneath  them  was  a  green  half-circle  covered  with 
grass,  extending  far  into  the  sea.  In  this  half-circle 
were  placed,  in  a  curving  line  on  the  ground,  cages  con- 
taining pigeons.  Moment  after  moment,  some  one  of 
those  cages  was  opened  suddenly,  and  a  frightened  bird 
rushed  through  the  air ;  then  a  shot  was  heard,  and  the 
pigeon  fell  to  the  ground,  or  even  into  the  sea,  where 
boats  were  rocking  with  fishermen  in  them  waiting  for 
their  prey. 

Sometimes  it  happened,  however,  that  the  shot  missed. 
Then  the  pigeon  flew  toward  the  sea,  and  afterward,  mov- 


ON   THE   BRIGHT  SHORE.  43<J 

ing  in  a  circle,  returned  to  seek  refuge  in  the  cornice  of 
the  Casino. 

"  From  here  we  do  riot  see  the  marksmen,  and  do  not 
know  who  fires,"  said  Pani  Elzen,  joyously,  "  so  we  will 
guess ;  if  the  first  pigeon  falls,  we  will  remain  in  Monte 
Carlo ;  if  it  escapes,  we  will  go  to  Italy." 

"Agreed.     Let  us  look  !     Out  it  comes  !" 

A  cage  fell  open  that  instant,  but  the  bird,  as  if  dazed, 
remained  on  the  spot.  They  frightened  the  pigeon  by 
rolling  a  wooden  ball  toward  it ;  next  a  shot  thundered. 
The  bird  did  not  fall  at  once,  however ;  it  made  straight 
for  the  sea.  coming  down  gradually  to  the  surface,  as  if 
wounded ;  but  at  last  it  vanished  completely  in  the  bright- 
ness of  the  sun. 

"  Maybe  it  fell,  maybe  it  did  not  fall !  The  future  is 
uncertain,"  said  Svirski,  laughing. 

"  It  is  that  unendurable  De  Sinten,"  said  Pani  Elzen, 
pouting  like  an  angry  child.  "  I  will  bet  that  is  he  ! 
Let  us  go  down." 

And  they  went  farther  down  toward  the  shooting, 
among  cactuses,  sunflowers,  and  goat  grass  clinging  to 
the  walls.  Pani  Elzen  stopped  at  every  report  of  a  gun, 
and  in  her  white  robe,  on  the  great  steps,  against  the 
green  background,  she  looked  like  a  statue. 

"There  is  nothing  after  all  which  drops  into  such 
splendid  folds  as  flannel,"  said  Svirski. 

"  Oh,  you  artist ! "  exclaimed  the  young  widow.  And 
there  was  irony  in  her  voice,  for  she  felt  a  little  angered 
that  Svirski  at  that  moment  was  thinking  not  of  her,  but 
of  the  folds  into  which  various  kinds  of  cloth  fall. 

"Let  us  go." 

A  few  minutes  later  they  were  under  the  roof  of  the 
shooting  gallery.  Of  acquaintances  they  found  only  De 
Sinten,  who  was  shooting  on  a  bet  with  a  Hungarian 


440  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

count.  The  two  men  were  dressed  in  reddish  English 
costume  with  caps  of  the  same  material  buttoned  down 
on  the  visor,  and  barred  stockings,  both  very  distin- 
guished, both  with  witless  faces.  But,  as  Pani  Elzen 
had  foreseen,  De  Sinten  was  so  occupied  with  shooting 
that  he  did  not  notice  the  widow  and  the  artist  at  first, 
and  only  after  a  time  did  he  come  and  greet  them. 

"  How  are  you  succeeding  ? "  inquired  the  lady. 

"  I  am  victorious !  I  am  almost  sure  of  a  great 
winning."  Here  he  turned  to  Svirski.  "But  do  you 
shoot?" 

"  Of  course ;  but  not  to-day." 

"  And  I,"  continued  De  Sinten,  looking  significantly  at 
Pani  Elzen,  "  am  to-day  lucky  in  play." 

They  called  him  just  then  to  the  shooting. 

"He  wanted  to  say  that  he  is  unlucky  in  love,"  said 
Svirski. 

"  Imbecile  !     Could  it  be  otherwise  ?  " 

But  in  spite  of  these  words  of  blame,  it  was  evident  by 
the  face  of  the  beautiful  lady  that  she  was  not  angry  that 
testimony  was  given  in  presence  of  Svirski  of  how  en- 
chanting she  was,  and  how  much  desired  by  all,  —  and 
that  was  not  to  be  the  last  testimony  of  the  day. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  about  something,"  said  the  artist, 
after  a  moment  of  silence ;  "  but  I  could  not  ask  during 
lunch  in  presence  of  the  boys  and  Kresovich.  Kresovich 
told  me  on  the  way  that  he  was  leaving  you,  or,  at  least, 
that  he  is  the  tutor  of  the  boys  for  the  last  day.  Is  this 
true,  and  why  is  it  ? " 

"It  is  true.  First  of  all,  I  am  not  sure  of  his  health. 
A  few  days  since  I  sent  him  to  the  doctor.  The 
doctor  declared  again  that  he  is  not  threatened  with  con- 
sumption, otherwise  I  should  not  have  kept  him  an 
hour ;  but  in  every  case  he  looks  worse  and  worse ;  he  is 


ON   THE  BRIGHT   SHORE.  441 

peculiar,  excitable,  often  he  is  unendurable.  That  is  the 
first  reason.  And,  then,  do  you  know  his  opinions  ? 
They  will  not  be  accepted  by  Koinulus  and  Eemus. 
The  boys  are  reared  in  such  fashion  that  those  opinions 
cannot  take  root  in  them.  Besides,  I  do  not  wish  them 
in  childhood  to  know  of  such  things,  to  meet  with  such 
an  erratic  spirit,  with  such  ill-will  toward  that  sphere  of 
society  to  which  my  sons  belong.  You  wished  them  to 
speak  with  some  one  in  their  own  language ;  that  was 
sufficient  for  me ;  that  was  for  me  a  command.  This  is 
the  kind  of  person  that  I  am,  and  such  shall  I  remain. 
I  understood,  too,  that  they  ought  to  know  their  own  lan- 
guage somewhat.  At  present  great  attention  is  given  to 
this  subject,  and  I  confess  that  people  are  right.  But 
even  in  this  regard  Kresovich  is  too  erratic." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  him.  There  are  certain  wrinkles  in 
the  corners  of  his  eyes  which  show  him  to  be  a  fanatic. 
His  face  is  a  strange  one,  and  really  he  is  a  curious 
man." 

"  Again  art  is  speaking  through  you,"  said  Pani  Elzen, 
smiling.  But  after  a  moment  she  grew  serious,  and  on 
her  face  even  anxiety  appeared. 

"I  have  another  reason,"  said  she.  "It  is  difficult  for 
me  to  speak  of  it;  but  still  I  will  tell  you,  for  with 
whom  am  I  to  be  outspoken  if  not  with  my  great  man  ? 
—  such  a  loved  one,  and  so  honest,  who  is  able  to  under- 
stand everything.  You  see  I  have  noticed  that  Kreso- 
vich has  lost  his  head,  and  fallen  in  love  with  me  to 
madness;  under  these  conditions  he  could  not  remain 
near  —  " 

"How  is  that,  and  he  too?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  she,  with  downcast  eyes. 

And  she  struggled  to  pretend  that  the  confession 
caused  her  pain;  but  just  as  a  moment  before  after  the 


442  ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

words  of  De  Sinten,  there  flew  across  her  mouth  a  smile 
of  flattered  self-love  and  feminine  vanity.  Svirski  took 
note  of  that  smile,  and  a  bitter,  angry  feeling  straitened 
his  heart. 

"  I  have  succumbed  to  the  epidemic,"  said  he. 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  asked  in  a  low 
voice,  — 

"  Was  that  said  by  a  jealous  man,  or  by  an  ungrateful 
one  ? " 

"  You  are  right,"  answered  he,  evasively.  "  If  that  be 
the  position,  Kresovich  should  go." 

"  I  will  settle  with  him  to-day,  and  that  will  be  the 
end." 

They  ceased  talking ;  nothing  was  heard  save  the 
shots  of  De  Sinten  and  the  Hungarian.  Svirski,  how- 
ever, could  not  forgive  her  that  smile  which  he  had 
caught  on  the  wing.  He  said  to  himself,  it  is  true,  that 
Pani  Elzen  was  obliged  to  act  with  Kresovich  as  she 
had  acted,  that  there  was  nothing  over  which  to  be 
angry  —  still  he  felt  rising  vexation  in  his  soul.  On  a 
time,  at  the  beginning  of  his  acquaintance  with  Pani 
Elzen,  he  saw  her  riding ;  she  was  some  yards  ahead ; 
after  her  hurried  De  Sinten,  young  Kladzki,  Prince 
Valerian,  Wilkis  Bey,  and  Waxford.  On  Svirski,  the 
group  produced  the  fatal  impression  at  the  moment, 
that  it  was  a  kind  of  chase  after  a  woman.  At  present 
the  picture  stood  in  memory  before  him  so  vividly  and 
with  such  sharpness  that  his  artistic  nature  suffered 
really. 

"  It  is  absolutely  true,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  that  all 
are  running  after  her,  and  if  I  had  been  thrown  in 
clearing  some  obstacle,  •  the  next  man  behind  would 
have  caught  her." 

But  further   meditation  was    stopped  by  Pani  Elzen, 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  443 

who  declared  that  she  was  growing  cold  in  the  shade, 
and  wished  to  warm  herself  a  trifle  in  the  sun. 

"  Let  us  go  to  your  rooms,  and  do  you  get  a  wrap," 
said  Svirski,  rising. 

They  set  out  for  the  upper  terrace,  but  halfway  on 
the  steps  she  stopped  all  at  once  and  said,  — 

"You  are  dissatisfied  with  me.  In  what  have  I  of- 
fended ;  have  I  not  done  what  was  proper  ? " 

Svirski,  whose  discontent  had  calmed  somewhat  on 
the  way,  and  who  was  touched  by  her  alarm,  said,  — 

"  Pardon  an  old  original ;  I  beg  you  to  do  so." 

Pani  Elzen  wanted  absolutely  to  find  out  what  had 
made  him  gloomy,  but  in  no  way  could  she  get  an  an- 
swer. Then,  half  jesting,  half  sad,  she  fell  to  com- 
plaining of  artists.  How  unendurable,  how  strange  they 
are,  men  whom  any  little  thing  offends,  any  little  thing 
pains ;  they  shut  themselves  up  at  once  in  themselves 
and  then  run  to  their  lonely  studios !  To-day,  for 
instance,  she  had  noted  three  times,  she  said,  how 
the  artist  wras  in  him.  That  was  bad !  Let  this 
wicked  artist  as  punishment  stay  for  dinner,  then  stay 
till  evening. 

But  Svirski  declared  that  he  must  return  to  his 
studio;  then  he  confided  to  her  his  anxieties  of  an 
artist,  his  trouble  in  finding  a  model  for  "  Sleep  and 
Death,"  and  finally  the  hope  which  he  connected  with 
that  picture. 

"  I  see  from  all  this,"  answered  the  young  widow, 
.smiling,  "  that  I  shall  have  one  terrible,  permanent  rival, 
art." 

"  That  is  not  a  rival,"  answered  Svirski ;  "  it  is  a  divin- 
ity which  you  will  serve  in  my  company." 

At  this  the  symmetrical  brows  of  the  beautiful  lady 
frowned  for  an  instant ;  but  meanwhile  they  reached  the 


444  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

hotel  That  day  Svirski  became  convinced  that  Paradise 
would  open  to  him  only  by  marriage.  And  on  the  train 
he  was  thankful  to  Pani  Elzen  for  that  conviction. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PANI  ELZEN,  before  beginning  her  toilet  for  dinner, 
summoned  Kresovich  so  as  to  pay  him.  She 
summoned  him  with  a  certain  curiosity  in  her  soul  as  to 
what  their  parting  would  be.  During  life,  she  had  seen 
so  many  people  fashioned,  as  it  were,  by  a  single  cutter 
on  one  common  pattern,  that  this  young  original  had 
held  her  attention  for  some  time  ;  and  now,  when  he  was 
to  leave  in  a  little  while,  and  take  a  broken  heart  with 
him,  he  occupied  her  still  more.  She  felt  sure  that  his 
passion  would  betray  itself  in  some  way,  and  she  had 
even  a  slightly  concealed  wish  that  it  should  betray 
itself,  promising,  not  altogether  sincerely,  that  she  would 
restrain  it  by  one  look  or  one  word,  should  it  dream  of 
surpassing  a  certain  measure. 

Kresovich,  however,  came  in  cool,  with  a  face  rather 
ominous  than  loving.  Pani  Elzen,  when  she  looked  at 
him,  thought  that  Svirski,  as  an  artist,  could  not  help 
noting  that  head,  for  there  was  in  it  something  quite 
exceptional.  Those  features  were  as  if  of  iron,  —  features 
in  which  will  surpassed  intelligence,  giving  them  an 
expression  which  to  a  certain  degree  was  dull,  but  also 
implacable.  Svirski  had  divined  long  before  that  Kreso- 
vich was  one  of  those  men  who,  once  seized  by  a  given 
idea,  have  a  faith  which  no  breath  of  doubt  can  ever 
dim.  Doubt  never  undermines  the  capacity  for  action  in 
men  like  him,  for  the  reason  that  a  persistent  and 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  445 

powerful  character  is  joined  to  a  certain  narrowness  of 
thought.  Fanaticism  flourishes  on  this  soil  alone.  Pani 
Elzen,  in  spite  of  her  society  understanding,  was  too 
frivolous  to  grasp  this.  Kresovich  would  have  attracted 
her  attention  only  had  he  been  an  exceptionally  hand- 
some fellow ;  but  since  he  was  not,  she  met  the  man  the 
first  time  she  saw  him  as  she  would  a  thing ;  and  it  was 
only  Svirski's  unconscious  teaching  which  brought  her 
to  turn  attention  to  the  student.  At  present  she  re- 
ceived him  politely,  and,  after  paying  what  she  owed, 
in  a  voice  cold,  it  is  true,  and  indifferent  as  usual,  but 
with  words  which  were  very  polite,  expressed  sorrow 
that  her  intended  departure  from  Monte  Carlo,  soon  to 
take  place,  was  a  hindrance  to  further  relations  between 
them.  Kresovich,  putting  the  money  into  his  pocket 
mechanically,  answered,  — 

"  I  informed  you  yesterday  that  I  could  teach  Eomulus 
and  Remus  no  longer." 

"  It  is  just  that  which  pleases  me,"  answered  she, 
raising  her  head. 

Evidently  she  wished,  at  least  at  first,  to  keep  the 
conversation  in  a  ceremonial  tone,  and  impose  that  tone 
on  Kresovich.  But  it  was  enough  to  look  at  him  to 
see  that  he  had  the  unbending  determination  to  say  all 
that  he  had  resolved  in  his  mind  to  say. 

"  You  have  paid  me  in  genuine  money,"  said  he ;  "  do 
not  then  give  me  counterfeit  coin  for  the  road." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  I  mean  this,"  said  he,  with  emphasis ;  "  that  you  do 
not  part  with  me  because  of  your  journey,  nor  have  I 
thanked  you  for  the  service.  There  is  another  cause, 
and  what  that  is  you  know  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  If  I  know,  perhaps  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  of  it,  nor 
to  mention  it,"  answered  Pani  Elzen,  haughtily. 


446  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

He  approached  one  step  toward  her,  putting  his  hands 
behind  him,  and  rearing  his  head  almost  threateningly. 

"  But  it  is  unavoidable,"  said  he :  "  first,  because  in  a 
moment  I  shall  go  away,  and,  second,  for  other  reasons 
too,  of  which  you  will  know  to-morrow." 

Pani  Elzen  rose  with  frowning  brow  and  somewhat 
with  the  theatrical  posture  of  an  offended  queen. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ? " 

He  drew  still  nearer,  so  that  his  mouth  was  barely  a 
few  inches  from  her  face,  and  began  to  speak  with  con- 
centrated energy. 

"  This  means  that  I  ought  to  have  hated  you  and  all 
your  circle ;  but  I  have  fallen  in  love  with  you.  This 
means  that  for  your  sake  I  have  degraded  myself  in  my 
own  conscience  ;  for  this  cause  I  shall  mete  out  my  own 
punishment  to  myself.  But  precisely  for  this  reason  I 
have  nothing  to  lose,  and  you  must  pay  me  for  my 
iniquity,  otherwise  there  will  be  a  catastrophe  I " 

Pani  Elzen  was  not  frightened,  for  in  general  she  had 
no  fear  of  men.  She  did  not  fear  Kresovich's  con- 
sumption either,  since  the  local  physician  had  quieted 
her  perfectly  on  that  point.  Her  astonishment  alone  was 
real ;  anger  and  fear  were  merely  apparent.  Amazement 
sprang  up  in  her  heart  at  once,  "  But  he  is  a  bird  of  prey, 
ready  to  tear  me  to  pieces."  For  her  nature,  wrapped 
up  as  it  was  in  corruption  and  fond  of  novelty,  every 
adventure,  especially  when  it  nattered  her  female  van- 
ity, had  an  unspeakable  charm.  For  this  cause  her 
moral  sense  was  astonished  at  nothing.  If  Kresovich 
had  implored  her  for  one  moment  of  delight,  for  the 
right  to  kiss  the  hern  of  her  garment  with  humility, 
and  on  his  knees,  she  would  have  given  command  to 
throw  him  out  of  doors.  But  this  man,  terrible,  almost 
wild,  this  representative  of  a  sect  of  whose  tremendous 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  447 

energy  fabulous  tales  were  related  in  her  social  circle, 
seemed  demonic,  so  different  from  all  men  whom  she 
had  seen  up  to  that  time  that  she  was  seized  with 
ecstasy.  Her  nerves  were  greedy  of  novelty.  She 
thought,  too,  that  in  case  of  resistance,  the  adventure 
might  take  on  proportions  altogether  unforeseen,  and 
turn  into  a  scandal;  for  that  lunatic  was  really  ready 
for  anything. 

But  Kresovich  continued,  covering  her  face  with  his 
burning  breath,  — 

"  I  love,  and  I  have  nothing  to  lose.  I  have  lost  health, 
I  have  destroyed  my  future,  and  have  demeaned  myself ! 
—  I  have  nothing  to  lose  !  Do  you  understand  ?  To  me 
it  is  all  one  whether  at  your  call  ten  men  run  in  here  or 
a  hundred ;  for  you  it  is  not  all  one  !  Afterward  I  shall 
go ;  and  the  secret  will  be  lost  —  I  swear ! " 

Pani  Elzen  cared  only  for  preserving  appearances, 
which  the  hypocritical  \voman  always  tries  to  preserve 
and  to  deceive  herself. 

Turning  her  eyes,  filled  with  feigned  terror,  to  his  face, 
which  was  really  like  the  face  of  a  madman,  she  asked,  — 

"  Do  you  want  to  kill  me  ? " 

"  I  want  pay  —  not  in  money  ! "  answered  he,  in  a 
stifled  voice.  Then  growing  paler  yet,  he  seized  her  in 
Ms  arms ;  and  she  began  to  defend  herself.  But  she  did 
so  like  a  faulting  woman  whom  terror  deprives  of  strength 
and  consciousness. 


448  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 


CHAPTEE   V. 

SVIRSKI,  on  arriving  at  Villa  Franca,  got  out  and 
went  to  the  harbor ;  for  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
might  return  to  Nice  by  boat.  He  found,  just  at  the  edge 
of  the  harbor,  a  fisherman,  an  old  acquaintance,  who, 
pleased  at  the  sight  of  a  liberal  customer,  undertook  with 
usual  Ligurian  boastfulness  to  take  him  "  even  to  Corsica 
though  the  Sirocco  were  to  turn  the  sea  bottom  upward." 
But  the  question  was  only  of  a  short  trip,  all  the 
easier  because  there  was  not  the  slightest  breeze.  Svirski 
took  his  place  at  the  stern,  and  they  moved  over  the 
smooth  sea.  After  a  time,  when  they  had  passed  the 
luxurious  private  yachts,  they  approached  ironclads,  whose 
calm,  black  immensities  were  outlined  firmly  and  distinctly 
in  the  afternoon  sunlight.  The  deck  of  the  "  Formidable  " 
was  garlanded  already  with  lamps  of  various  colors,  for  the 
ball  of  the  following  evening,  to  which  Svirski  was  to 
receive  an  invitation.  At  the  bulwarks  were  sailors,  who, 
seen  from  below,  looked  like  pygmies  when  compared  with 
the  ship.  The  iron  walls  of  the  vessel,  the  smoke-stacks, 
the  masts,  the  rigging,  were  reflected  in  the  transparent 
water  as  in  a  mirror.  From  time  to  time  among  the  iron- 
clads pushed  a  boat,  which  from  a  distance  seemed  a  black 
beetle,  moving  its  row  of  legs  symmetrically.  Beyond  the 
vessels  began  empty  space,  in  which  the  sea  surface,  as 
is  usual  when  anything  leaves  the  harbor,  rose  and  fell, 
though  there  was  no  wind,  now  raising,  now  letting  down 
Svirski's  boat,  with  a  movement  at  once  broad  and  agree- 
able. Soon  they  were  approaching  lofty  cliffs,  on  the 
right  side  of  the  harbor,  along  which  extended  a  gray, 
dusty  road ;  lower  down  was  a  parade-ground,  where 


ON  THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  449 

soldiers  were  practising  on  trumpets.  At  last,  when  they 
had  turned  the  promontory,  against  which  waves  were 
rolling,  they  sailed  into  deep  water. 

Beyond  the  harbor  there  is  always  some  breeze,  there- 
fore the  fisherman  hoisted  his  sails.  Svirski,  instead  of 
steering  toward  Nice,  turned  to  the  open  sea. 

They  went  straight  ahead,  rocked  by  the  swell.  The 
sun  was  lowering  toward  evening.  The  rocky  cliffs  and 
the  sea  had  grown  purple ;  everything  round  about  was 
calm,  quiet,  and  so  immense  that,  in  spite  of  himself, 
Svirski  thought  how  contemptible  and  petty  life  was  in 
view  of  those  elements  which  surrounded  him  at  that 
moment.  Suddenly  he  felt  as  if  his  own  affairs,  and 
those  of  other  men,  had  gone  somewhere  very  far  off. 
Pani  Elzen,  Romulus,  Remus,  and  all  his  acquaintances 
along  the  shore,  all  that  swarm  of  people  filled  with 
fever,  unrest,  paltry  ambitions,  and  wretched  desires,  were 
belittled  in  his  eyes.  As  a  man  accustomed  to  analyze 
what  happens  within  him,  he  was  frightened  at  that 
impression ;  for  he  considered  that  if  he  loved  Pani 
Elzen  really,  her  portrait  would  not  be  covered  by 
anything,  would  not  be  dimmed,  would  not  be  decreased, 
would  not  disappear.  Such  had  been  the  case  with  him 
formerly.  Svirski  remembered  that  when  a  woman 
whom  he  loved  got  married,  he  went  on  a  journey.  At 
that  time  he  learned  first  to  know  Italy,  Rome,  Sicily, 
and  the  sea,  and  the  coast  of  Africa ;  and  no  impression 
dimmed  in  his  mind  the  memory  of  the  beloved  woman. 
In  the  galleries  of  Florence  and  Rome,  on  the  sea  and 
in  the  desert,  she  was  with  him ;  through  her  he  received 
every  impression,  and  everywhere  he  said  to  her,  as  if 
present,  "  Look  at  this  ! "  The  difference  between  those 
distant  years  and  to-day  filled  him  with  sadness. 

But  the  calm  of  the  sea  acted  on  him  in  a  manner  that 

29 


450  ON  THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

was  healing.  They  had  sailed  out  so  far  that  the  shores 
began  to  be  concealed.  Then  the  sun  went  down ;  one 
star  twinkled,  and  then  another.  The  dolphins,  which  in 
the  evening  twilight  passed  before  the  boat  with  the 
motion  of  waves,  disturbing  the  calm  surface  with  their 
sharp  backs,  sank  in  the  depth,  and  from  no  point  came 
an  echo.  The  surface  of  the  water  had  grown  so  smooth 
that  at  moments  the  sails  became  limp.  Finally,  the 
moon  rose  from  beyond  the  mountains,  pouring  a  greenish 
light  over  the  sea  and  illuminating  it  far  off  to  the  limit 
of  the  horizon. 

A  southern  night  began,  as  mild  as  it  was  silent. 
Svirski  sheltered  himself  in  the  coat  lent  him  by  the 
fisherman,  and  meditated :  "  All  that  surrounds  me  is  not 
only  beauty,  but  truth  as  well.  The  life  of  man,  if  it  is 
to  be  normal,  should  be  ingrafted  on  the  trunk  of  nature, 
grow  out  of  it,  as  a  branch  grows  out  of  a  tree,  and  exist 
in  virtue  of  those  same  laws.  Then  it  will  be  truthful 
and  besides  moral,  for  morality  is  at  bottom  nothing  else 
than  the  agreement  of  life  with  the  universal  law  of 
nature.  For  instance,  simplicity  and  calm  surrounds  me ; 
I  understand  this,  and  I  feel  it  is  as  an  artist ;  but  I 
have  n't  it  in  myself  as  a  man,  for  my  life,  and  the  life  of 
these  people  among  whom  I  live,  has  departed  from 
nature,  it  has  ceased  to  fit  itself  to  that  law,  to  be  its 
result,  and  has  made  itself  a  lie.  Everything  in  us  is 
artificial,  even  the  feeling  of  natural  laws  has  perished  in 
us.  Our  relations  are  founded  on  falsehood.  Our  senses 
are  crooked ;  our  souls  and  our  impulses  sick.  We 
deceive  one  another  and  even  ourselves,  till  at  last  no 
man  is  sure  that  he  wishes  really  that  toward  which  he 
is  striving,  or  that  he  will  strive  toward  that  which  he 
wishes." 

And  there,  in  presence  of  that  night,  of  that  infinity  of 


ON  THE  BRIGHT  SHORE.  451 

the  sea,  of  the  stars,  of  all  nature,  of  its  calmness,  its 
simplicity,  its  immensity,  he  was  seized  by  a  feeling  of 
the  gigantic  falsehood  of  the  relations  between  men. 
False  seemed  to  him  his  love  for  Pani  Elzen ;  false  her 
relation  to  him,  to  her  children,  to  other  men,  to  society ; 
false  the  life  on  that  bright  shore;  false  their  present 
and  false  their  future.  "  I  am  encircled,  as  if  by  a  net," 
thought  he ;  "  and  I  know  not  how  to  tear  myself  out  of 
it."  And  indeed  that  was  true.  For  if  all  life  is  a  false- 
hood, what  is  to  be  done  in  face  of  that  fact  ?  Eeturn  to 
nature  ?  Begin  some  sort  of  life  half  savage,  half  peasant? 
Break  with  people  and  become  a  reformer  right  away  ? 
Svirski  felt  too  old  for  this,  and  too  sceptical.  For 
such  a  course  one  needs  to  have  the  dogmatism  of 
Kresovich,  and  to  feel  evil  as  a  spur  to  battle  and 
reform,  not  as  a  mere  impression  which  may  grow  faint 
to-morrow !  But  another  thought  came  to  Svirski's  mind 
as  a  recompense.  The  man  who  does  not  feel  in  him- 
self power  to  reform  the  world,  may  flee  from  it,  for  a 
time,  at  least,  and  draw  breath.  For  instance,  he  could 
go  to  Marseilles  the  next  day,  and  a  couple  of  days  later 
somewhere  else,  out  on  the  open  ocean,  hundreds  of  miles 
from  the  shore,  from  sickly  life,  from  lies  and  deceptions. 
In  this  way  all  would  be  settled  immediately,  or  rather 
cut  off  as  if  with  a  knife. 

And  in  one  moment  he  was  seized  by  such  a  desire  to 
turn  that  idea  into  action  that  he  gave  command  to 
return  to  Nice. 

"  The  wild  beast,  which  feels  itself  in  a  net,"  thought 
he,  "  tries  first  of  all  to  get  out.  That  is  its  first  right 
—  and  just  that  is  in  accord  with  nature,  hence  it  is 
moral.  The  net  around  me  is  not  Pani  Elzen  alone, 
but  all  things  taken  together.  I  feel  perfectly  that  in 
marrying  her  I  shall  marry  a  life  of  lies.  That  might 


452  ON   THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

happen  even  without  her  fault,  and  through  the  neces- 
sity of  things  —  from  such  a  complication  one  is  always 
free  to  escape." 

And  now  he  pictured  other  scenes  to  himself,  —  scenes 
which  he  might  see  in  his  flight:  broad  deserts  with 
water  and  with  sand,  unknown  lands  and  people,  the 
sincerity  and  truth  of  their  primitive  life,  and  finally  the 
variety  of  events,  and  all  the  difference  between  days  to 
come  and  the  present. 

"  I  ought  to  have  done  this  long  since,"  said  he  to 
himself. 

Then  a  thought  entered  his  mind  which  could  come 
only  to  an  artist,  that  if  he  should  leave  his  betrothed 
suddenly  and  go  to  Paris,  for  example,  the  act  would 
belong  to  "  vile  literature ; "  but  should  he  shoot  off 
beyond  the  equator,  to  the  land  where  pepper  grows,  the 
fact  of  leaving  her  would  be  diminished  in  view  of  the 
distance,  the  affair  would  make  another  impression,  would 
appear  more  original,  and,  for  that  very  reason,  in  better 
taste. 

"  But  I,"  thought  he,  "  will  go  devilish  far !  " 

Meanwhile  from  a  distance  Nice  rose  before  him  in 
the  form  of  a  bundle  of  lights.  In  the  middle  of  that 
bundle  was  the  building  called  "  Jetde  Promenade," 
which  gleamed  in  the  form  of  a  gigantic  lighthouse. 
As  the  boat,  urged  by  a  strong  breeze,  approached  the 
harbor,  every  one  of  those  lights  changed,  as  it  were,  into 
a  pillar  of  fire,  which  quivered  on  the  moving  water  near 
the  shore.  The  sight  of  these  gleams  sobered  Svirski. 

"  The  city  !  —  and  life  ! "  thought  he. 

And  at  once  his  former  plans  began  to  fall  apart  like 
dream-visions  born  of  night  and  emptiness.  That  which 
a  moment  earlier  he  thought  justifiable,  necessary,  and 
easy  of  accomplishment,  seemed  a  whim  devoid  of  the 


ON  THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  453 

essence  of  reality,  and  in  part  dishonest.  "  With  life, 
whatever  it  be,  one  must  reckon.  Whoso  has  lived 
under  its  laws  the  years  that  I  have,  must  feel  respon- 
sible to  it.  It  is  no  great  thing  to  say  to  one's  self :  I 
used  them  as  long  as  they  were  pleasant,  but  the"  moment 
they  were  painful  I  went  back  to  nature." 

Then  he  fell  to  thinking  more  connectedly,  not  of 
general  theories,  but  of  Pani  Elzen. 

"  By  what  right  could  I  leave  her  ?  If  her  life  has 
been  artificial  and  false,  if  her  past  is  not  clear,  I,  who 
knew  that,  might  have  refrained  from  proposing.  At 
present  I  could  have  the  right  to  break  with  her  only 
in  case  I  discovered  in  her  evil  which  she  concealed,  or 
if  she  committed  some  fault  touching  me.  But  she  has 
committed  no  fault  of  that  sort.  She  has  been  honest 
and  sincere  with  me.  Besides,  there  is  something  in 
her  which  attracts  me ;  if  not,  I  should  not  have  pro- 
posed. At  moments  I  feel  that  I  love  her ;  and  because 
doubt  comes  at  times  on  me,  must  she  be  the  sufferer  ? 
My  flight  would  in  every  case  be  an  injustice  to  the 
woman,  and  who  knows  that  it  would  not  be  a  blow." 

He  understood  now,  that  to  think  of  flight  and  per- 
mit it  are,  for  a  decent  man,  two  opposite  poles.  He 
could  only  think  of  it.  He  could  appear  before  the 
eyes  of  Pani  Elzen  more  easily,  and  ask  her  to  return 
his  word  to  him ;  but  to  flee  from  danger  was  a  thing 
directly  opposed  to  his  personal  nature  and  the  charac- 
ter of  his  stock,  which  was  thoroughly  civilized.  Be- 
sides, at  the  very  thought  of  doing  injustice  to  a  woman, 
the  heart  quivered  in  him ;  and  Pani  Elzen  grew  nearer 
and  dearer  to  him. 

They  had  sailed  almost  into  the  harbor;  and  a  moment 
later  the  boat  arrived.  Svirski  paid,  and  taking  a  seat 
in  a  carriage,  gave  directions  to  drive  to  his  studio.  On 


454  ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

the  street,  amid  the  glare  of  lamps,  the  noise  and  the 
movement,  he  was  carried  away  again  by  a  yearning  for 
that  quiet,  that  endless  spread  of  water,  that  calm- 
ness, that  boundless  truth  of  God,  from  which  he  had 
parted  a  moment  before.  At  last,  when  he  was  near  the 
studio,  the  following  idea  came  to  his  head :  "  It  is  a 
marvellous  thing  that  I,  who  feared  women  so  much,  and 
was  so  distrustful  of  them,  have  in  the  end  of  ends 
chosen  one  capable  of  rousing  more  fear  than  all  the 
others." 

There  was  in  that  a  certain  fatality,  as  it  were ;  and 
Svirski  would  have  found  beyond  doubt  in  that  concourse 
of  things  material  for  meditation  during  a  whole  evening, 
had  it  not  been  that  as  he  entered  the  servant  gave  him 
two  letters.  In  one,  was  an  invitation  to  the  ball  of  the 
following  day  on  board  the  "  Formidable,"  the  other  was 
from  Pani  Lageat,  the  owner  of  the  house. 

She  informed  him  of  her  departure  in  a  couple  of 
days  for  Marseilles,  and  at  the  same  time  told  him 
that  she  had  found  a  model  who  ought  to  satisfy  his 
most  extravagant  taste,  and  who  would  come  the  next 
morning. 


CHAPTEK  VI. 

THE  promised  miracle  came  on  the  following  morn- 
ing at  nine.  Svirski  was  dressed  and  waiting  with 
impatience  and  nervousness;  happily  his  fears  proved 
unfounded.  The  first  glance  satisfied  him.  The  model 
was  tall,  slender,  very  graceful ;  she  had  a  small  head, 
a  delicate  face,  a  beautiful  structure  of  forehead,  long 
eyelashes,  and  great  freshness  of  complexion.  But,  be- 
yond all,  Svirski  was  charmed  by  this,  that  she  had 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  455 

"  her  own  "  style  of  face,  and  in  her  expression  there 
was  something  girl-like.  "  She  has  noble  movements," 
thought  he;  "and  if  she  is  formed  as  she  seems,  then 
'  Eureka ! '  I  will  engage  her  for  a  long  time,  and  take 
her  with  me." 

He  was  struck  also  by  her  timidity  and  a  look,  as  it 
were,  of  fright.  He  knew,  it  is  true,  that  models  some- 
times feign  timidity.  He  admitted,  however,  that  this 
one  did  not. 

"  What  is  thy  name,  my  child  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Maria  Cervi." 

"  Art  thou  from  Nice  ?  " 

"From  Nice." 

"  Hast  ever  been  a  model  ? " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Trained  models  know  what  is  needed ;  with  new  ones 
there  is  trouble.  Thou  hast  never  been  a  model  in  thy 
life  ? " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  How  didst  thou  get  the  wish  to  be  a  model  ? " 

She  hesitated,  and  blushed  somewhat. 

"  Pani  Lageat  told  me  that  I  should  be  able  to  earn 
something." 

"  True,  but  evidently  thou  art  afraid.  What  dost  thou 
fear  ?  I  will  not  eat  thee  !  How  much  dost  thou  ask 
for  a  sitting  ? " 

"  Pani  Lageat  told  me  that  you  would  pay  five  francs." 

"  Pani  Lageat  was  mistaken.     I  pay  ten." 

Joy  gleamed  in  the  girl's  face,  and  her  cheeks  grew 
still  redder. 

"  When  must  I  begin  ? "  asked  she,  with  a  somewhat 
trembling  voice. 

"  To-day,  immediately,"  answered  Svirski,  pointing  to 
the  picture  already  begun.  "  There  is  the  screen  ;  go 


456  ON   THE   BRIGHT    SHORE. 

behind,  undress  to  the  waist  only.  Thou  wilt  sit  for 
the  head,  the  bosom,  and  a  part  of  the  stomach." 

She  turned  to  him  an  astonished  face ;  her  hands 
dropped  slowly  along  her  dress. 

"  How  is  that,  sir  ? "  asked  she,  looking  at  him  with 
terrified  eyes. 

"  My  child,"  answered  the  artist,  a  little  impatiently, 
"  I  understand  that  it  may  be  difficult  the  first  time. 
But  either  thou  art  a  model,  or  thou  art  not.  I  need 
the  head,  the  bosom,  and  a  part  of  the  stomach ;  I  need 
these  absolutely ;  dost  thou  understand  ?  And  be  sure, 
at  the  same  time,  that  there  is  nothing  bad  in  me ;  but, 
first  of  all,  think  it  over  —  and  quickly  ;  for,  if  thou  art 
not  willing,  I  shall  look  for  another." 

He  spoke  as  a  man  somewhat  vexed ;  for  in  his  mind 
the  point  was  that  just  she  should  be  the  model,  and 
that  he  should  not  have  to  look  for  another.  Meanwhile 
silence  came.  The  model  grew  pale  very  evidently ;  still, 
after  a  while,  she  went  behind  the  screen. 

Svirski  fell  to  pushing  the  easel  toward  the  window, 
with  a  noise,  thinking,  meanwhile,  — 

"  She  will  gain  the  habit,  and  in  a  week  will  laugh 
at  her  scruples." 

Next,  he  arranged  the  sofa  on  which  the  model  was  to 
lie,  took  his  brush,  and  began  to  grow  impatient. 

"  Well,  how  is  it  ?     Art  thou  ready  ? " 

Silence. 

"  Well,  make  up  thy  mind.     What  jokes  are  these  ? " 

Just  then  from  behind  the  screen  came  a  trembling, 
imploring  voice,  with  the  prayer,  — 

"  I  have  thought  it  over,  sir.  In  our  house  there 
is  poverty ;  but  still  —  I  —  cannot !  If  you  would  be 
kind  and  take  the  head  —  for  three  francs,  or  even  for 
two  —  if  you  would  have  the  kindness." 


ON  THE  BRIGHT  SHORE.  457 

And  these  words  came  with  sobbing.  Svirski  turned 
toward  the  screen,  dropped  his  brush,  and  opened  his 
mouth.  Unparalleled  astonishment  seized  him,  for  the 
model  was  speaking  in  his  own  native  tongue. 

"Is  the  lady  a  Pole?"  asked  he  at  last,  forgetting 
that  a  moment  before  he  had  said  thou  to  her. 

"  Yes,  sir.  That  is,  my  father  was  an  Italian,  but  my 
grandfather  is  a  Pole." 

A  moment  of  silence  ensued.  Svirski  recovered,  and 
said, — 

"  Arrange  your  dress ;  I  will  take  only  your  head.'' 

But  evidently  she  had  not  begun  to  undress,  for  she 
came  from  behind  the  screen  at  once,  confused,  full  of 
fear  yet,  and  with  traces  of  tears  on  her  cheeks. 

"I  thank  you,"  said  she.  "You  are  —  I  beg  your 
pardon ;  but  — 

"  Be  at  rest,"  said  Svirski.  "  Here  is  the  chair ;  have 
no  fear:  You  will  pose  for  your  head ;  I  had  no  wish 
to  offend  you.  You  see  that  picture.  I  wanted  a  model 
for  this  figure  here.  But  since  it  is  so  painful  to  you, 
the  question  is  changed,  especially  as  you  are  a  Pole." 

Tears  began  to  flow  over  her  cheeks  again ;  but  she 
looked  at  him  through  her  blue  eyes  with  gratitude; 
he  found  a  bottle  of  wine,  poured  out  half  a  glass,  and, 
giving  it  to  her,  said, — 

"Drink  this.  I  have  biscuits  here  somewhere,  but 
deuce  knows  where  they  are.  I  ask  you  to  drink.  There, 
it  is  all  right.  Your  hand  trembles ;  but  there  is  no 
danger  here  —  I  beg  you  to  be  calm." 

And  saying  this  he  looked  at  her  with  the  sympathy 
of  his  honest  eyes,  and  said  after  a  while,  — 
"Poor  child !" 

Then  he  stepped  aside,  and  put  the  easel  in  its  old 
place,  saying  while  he  did  so,— 


458  ON  THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

"There  is  no  posing  to-day.  You  are  too  much  ex- 
cited. To-morrow,  we  will  begin  work  early ;  to-day,  we 
will  talk  a  little.  Who  could  guess  that  Maria  Cervi 
was  a  Pole !  Your  grandfather  is  a  Pole  then,  is  he 
not?  Is  he  alive?" 

"Yes ;  but  he  has  not  walked  for  the  last  two  years." 

"  What  is  his  name  ? " 

"  Orysevich,"  answered  she,  speaking  somewhat  with  a 
foreign  accent. 

"I  know  that  name.  Has  he  been  long  in  this 
country  ? " 

"  Grandfather  has  been  sixty-five  years  out  of  Poland. 
First,  he  was  in  the  Italian  army,  and  then  in  the  bank 
of  Nice." 

"How  old  is  he?" 

' "  Nearly  ninety." 

"  Your  father's  name  was  Cervi  ? " 

"  Yes.  My  father  was  from  Nice ;  but  he  served  also 
in  the  Italian  army." 

"  Then  he  is  dead  ? " 

"  Five  years." 

"  And  your  mother  is  alive  ? " 

"  She  is.     We  live  together  in  Old  Nice." 

"Very  well.  But  now  one  more  question.  Does 
your  mother  know  that  you  want  to  become  a  model  ? " 

To  this  the  girl  answered  in  a  hesitating  voice,  "  No, 
mamma  does  not  know.  Pani  Lageat  told  me  that  in 
this  way  I  could  earn  five  francs  a  day ;  and  as  there  is 
poverty  in  our  house,  —  very  great  poverty,  —  I  had  no 
other  way." 

Svirski  took  in  the  girl  from  head  to  foot  with  quick 
glance,  and  understood  that  he  was  listening  to  truth. 
Everything  testified  to  poverty,  —  her  hat,  her  dress, 
which  was  so  worn,  or  rather  consumed  by  age,  that 


ON  THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  459 

every  thread  in  it  was  visible,  her  gloves,  darued  and 
faded. 

"  Go  home  now,"  said  he,  "  and  tell  your  mother  that 
there  is  an  artist  named  Svirski  who  wishes  you  to  sit 
to  him  as  a  model  for  the  head.  Say  also  that  this 
artist  will  come,  at  recommendation  of  Pani  Lageat,  to 
ask  you  to  sit  with  your  mother  in  his  studio,  for  which 
he  offers  you  ten  francs  a  day." 

Panna  Cervi  began  to  thank  him,  without  knowing 
how  to  find  speech,  weeping  and  confusing  her  words, 
with  a  voice  full  both  of  tears  and  delight.  He  saw 
what  was  happening  within  her,  and  said, — 

"  Very  well.  I  shall  come  in  an  hour.  You  seem  to 
me  a  very  honest  girl.  Have  confidence  in  me.  I  am 
something  of  a  bear,  but  I  understand  more  things  than 
one.  We  shall  arrange  this  affair,  and  the  trouble  will 
pass.  Ah !  yes,  one  point  more.  I  do  not  wish  to  give 
you  money  at  once,  for  you  would  have  to  explain  the 
matter ;  but  in  an  hour  I  will  bring  all  that  is  needed 
on  account.  I  too  had  troubles  formerly,  and  know  what 
prompt  aid  means.  You  have  nothing  to  give  thanks 
for,  a  trifle  !  Till  we  meet  again  —  in  an  hour." 

So,  after  he  had  asked  again  for  her  address,  he  con- 
ducted the  girl  to  the  steps ;  and,  when  an  hour  had 
passed,  he  took  his  seat  in  a  carriage  and  gave  directions 
to  drive  to  Old  Nice. 

All  that  had  happened  seemed  to  him  so  peculiar 
that  he  could  think  of  nothing  else.  He  felt  too  the 
delight  which  every  honest  man  feels  when  he  has  acted 
as  he  ought,  and  when  he  may  become  a  providence 
to  some  person. 

"  If  that  is  not  an  honest  and  a  good  girl,"  thought  he 
of  Panna  Cervi,  "  I  am  the  dullest  mule  in  Liguria." 

But  he   did   not   admit   that  anything   similar   could 


460  ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

happen.  On  the  contrary,  he  felt  that  he  had  struck  a 
very  honest  woman's  soul,  and  at  the  same  time  he  was 
delighted  that  that  soul  was  enclosed  in  such  a  young 
and  beautiful  body. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  last  in  front  of  an  old  and 
battered  house  near  the  harbor.  The  woman  at  the  gate 
pointed  contemptuously  enough  to  Pani  Cervi's  apart- 
ments. 

"  Poverty  indeed ! "  thought  the  artist,  as  he  went  up 
the  sloping  steps.  After  a  while  he  knocked  at  the 
door. 

"  Come  in ! "  answered  a  voice. 

Svirski  entered.  A  woman  about  forty  years  of  age 
received  him ;  she  was  dressed  in  black ;  a  brunette,  sad, 
thin,  evidently  broken  by  life :  but  she  had  nothing 
common  about  her.  At  her  side  stood  Panna  Maria. 

"  I  know  all,  and  I  thank  you  from  my  soul  and 
heart ! "  said  Pani  Cervi ;  "  may  God  reward  and  bless 
you." 

Thus  speaking,  she  caught  his  hand  and  bent  her  head 
as  if  to  kiss  it ;  but  he  withdrew  the  hand  quickly ; 
anxious  to  drive  away  ceremony  at  the  earliest,  and 
break  the  ice  of  first  acquaintance,  he  turned  to  Panna 
Maria,  and,  shaking  his  finger  at  her,  said,  with  the 
freedom  of  an  old  acquaintance, — 

"  Ah,  this  little  girl  has  let  out  the  secret ! " 

Panna  Maria  smiled  at  him  in  answer,  a  little  sadly, 
a  little  perplexed.  She  seemed  to  him  fair,  more  beauti- 
ful than  in  the  studio.  He  noticed  also  that  she  had 
around  her  neck  a  narrow,  lily-colored  ribbon  which  she 
had  not  worn  before ;  and  this  touched  him  still  more 
as  a  proof  that  evidently  she  did  not  consider  him  an 
old  grandfather,  since  she  had  dressed  for  him.  Then 
Pani  Cervi  said, — 


ON  THE  BRIGHT  SHORE.  461 

"  Yes,  Maria  told  everything.  God  watched  over  her, 
and  over  us,  so  that  she  met  such  a  man  as  you." 

"  Panna  Maria  told  me  of  the  difficult  circumstances  in 
which  you  are  living,"  answered  Svirski ;  "  but,  believe 
me,  that  even  in  those  circumstances  it  is  happiness  to 
have  such  a  daughter." 

"  Yes,"  said  Pani  Cervi,  calmly. 

"  Meanwhile  I  owe  gratitude  to  you ;  for  I  was  look- 
ing, and  looking  in  vain,  till  at  last  a  head  fell  from 
heaven  to  me.  Now  I  am  sure  of  my  picture.  I  must 
only  make  sure  that  my  model  does  not  run  away  1 " 

Meanwhile,  he  drew  out  three  hundred  francs  and 
forced  Pani  Cervi  to  take  them,  assuring  her  that  he 
would  make  a  great  profit,  for  he  would  receive  much 
money,  thanks  to  Panna  Maria ;  and  then  he  declared 
that  he  would  like  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the 
"grandfather,"  for  he  had  always  had  a  weakness  for 
old  soldiers. 

Hearing  this,  Panna  Maria  ran  to  the  adjoining  cham- 
ber ;  soon  the  noise  of  a  wheeled  chair  was  heard,  and 
the  grandfather  was  rolled  into  the  room.  Evidently  the 
old  man  had  been  prepared  to  receive  the  guest,  for  he 
was  in  uniform,  with  all  his  orders  acquired  in  Italy. 
Svirski  saw  before  him  an  old  man  whose  face  had  grown 
small  and  wrinkled;  his  moustaches  and  hair  were  white 
as  milk ;  his  blue  eyes  opened  widely,  and  looked  some- 
thing like  the  eyes  of  an  infant. 

"  Grandfather,"  said  Maria,  bending  over  him  in  such 
fashion  that  the  old  man  could  see  her  lips,  and  speaking 
not  in  a  loud  voice,  but  slowly  and  precisely,  "this  is 
Pan  Svirski,  a  fellow-countryman  and  an  artist." 

The  old  man  turned  his  blue  eyes  toward  the  visitor, 
and  looked  at  him  persistently,  meanwhile  blinking  as 
if  summoning  his  mind. 


462  ON  THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

*  A  fellow-countryman  ? "  repeated  he.  "  Yes  !  —  a  fel- 
low-countryman." 

Then  he  smiled,  looked  at  his  daughter,  his  grand- 
daughter, and  again  at  Svirski;  he  sought  words  for  a 
time,  and  asked  at  last,  with  an  aged,  trembling  voice,  — 

"And  what  will  there  be  in  spring?" 

Evidently  there  remained  to  him  some  single  thought, 
which  had  outlived  all  the  others,  but  which  he  had 
not  been  able  to  express.  So,  after  a  while,  he  leaned  his 
trembling  head  against  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  began 
to  look  at  the  window,  smiling,  however,  at  that  thought, 
and  repeating,  — 

"  Yes,  yes  !     It  will  be  ! " 

"  Grandfather  always  acts  that  way,"  said  Maria. 

Svirski  looked  at  him  for  a  time  with  emotion ;  then 
Pani  Cervi  began  to  speak  of  her  father  and  her  husband. 
Both  had  taken  part  in  the  wars  against  Austria  for 
Italian  independence.  They  had  lived  some  time  in 
Florence  ;  and  only  after  the  occupation  of  Rome  did  they 
return  to  Nice,  where  Cervi's  family  originated.  There 
Orysevich  gave  his  daughter  to  his  young  comrade  in 
arms.  Both  men  found  places  in  the  bank,  thanks  to 
relatives  in  Nice.  All  succeeded  well  till  Cervi  was 
killed  in  a  railroad  accident,  a  few  years  before,  and 
Orysevich  lost  his  place  through  old  age.  From  that 
time  their  trouble  began,  for  the  only  capital  which  the 
three  persons  had  to  support  them  was  sixty  lires,  which 
the  Italian  government  gave  the  old  man.  That  was 
enough  to  keep  them  from  dying,  but  not  enough  to  give 
them  life.  The  two  women  earned  a  little  by  sewing  or 
teaching ;  but  during  summer,  when  life  died  away  in 
Nice,  when  it  was  impossible  to  earn  anything,  their 
slender  supplies  were  swallowed  up.  Two  years  before 
the  old  soldier  had  lost  the  use  of  his  legs  altogether ;  he 


ON  THE  BRIGHT  SHORE.  463 

was  frequently  sick,  and  had  to  be  cared  for;  through 
this  their  condition  grew  worse  and  worse. 

Svirski,  while  listening  to  this  narrative,  made  note  of 
two  things.  First,  that  Pani  Cervi  did  not  speak  as  good 
Polish  as  her  daughter.  Evidently  the  old  man,  in  the 
years  of  his  campaigning,  could  not  devote  himself  to  the 
education  of  his  daughter  in  the  same  degree  as  he  had 
afterward  to  the  education  of  his  granddaughter.  But 
the  second  thing  was  more  important  for  Svirski.  "  This 
granddaughter,"  thought  he,  "  being  such  a  beautiful  girl, 
might,  especially  in  Nice,  on  that  shore  where  idlers 
squander  millions  every  year,  keep  carriages,  servants, 
and  have  a  drawing-room  finished  in  satin.  But  she 
wears  a  threadbare  dress,  and  her  only  ornament  is  a 
faded  lily-colored  ribbon.  There  must  be  some  strength 
which  has  kept  her  from  evil.  For  this,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "  two  things  are  requisite,  —  pure  nature  and  honor- 
able traditions;  there  is  no  doubt  that  I  have  found 
both." 

And  he  began  to  have  a  pleasant  feeling  among  those 
people.  He  noticed  also  that  poverty  had  not  destroyed 
in  the  two  women  traces  of  good-breeding,  a  certain  ele- 
gance which  comes  from  within  and  seems  inborn.  Both 
mother  and  daughter  had  received  him  as  a  providence ; 
but  in  their  words  and  manners  one  could  notice  more 
delight  at  making  the  acquaintance  of  an  honest  man, 
than  at  the  aid  which  he  brought  them.  It  might  be 
that  the  three  hundred  francs  which  he  left  with  the 
mother  saved  the  family  from  many  cares  and  humilia- 
tions, but  still  he  felt  that  mother  and  daughter  were 
more  thankful  to  him  because  he  had  acted  in  the  studio 
like  a  man  of  true  and  tender  heart,  who  understood  the 
girl's  pain,  her  modesty,  and  sacrifice.  But  to  him  the 
greatest  pleasure  came  from  noting  that  in  Panna  Maria's 


464  ON   THE  BRIGHT   SHOEE. 

timidity,  and  in  her  charming  glances,  there  was  an 
anxiety  which  a  young  girl  might  experience  before  a 
man  to  whom  she  feels  obliged  with  her  whole  sou),  but 
who  at  the  same  time,  according  to  Svirski's  expression, 
"  is  not  out  of  the  current  yet."  He  was  forty-five  years 
of  age,  but,  in  spite  of  a  young  heart,  he  began  at  mo- 
ments to  doubt  himself,  so  that  the  lily-colored  ribbon 
and  this  observation  caused  him  real  pleasure.  Finally, 
he  talked  to  them  with  the  same  respect  and  attention  as 
with  women  of  the  best  society,  and,  seeing  that  he  enter- 
tained them  more  and  more  by  this  means,  he  felt  satis- 
fied. At  parting,  he  pressed  the  hands  of  both ;  and  when 
Panna  Maria  returned  the  pressure,  with  drooping  eye- 
lashes, but  with  all  the  strength  of  her  warm  young 
hand,  he  went  out  a  little  dazed,  and  with  a  head  so  full 
of  the  fair  model  that  the  driver  of  the  carriage  in  which 
he  took  a  seat  had  to  ask  him  twice  where  he  wished  to 

go- 
On  the  road  he  thought  that  it  would  not  do  to  put 
the  head  of  "Panna  Maria"  on  a  body  naked  to  the 
waist,  and  he  began  to  persuade  himself  that  even  for  the 
picture  it  would  be  better  to  cast  some  light  drapery  over 
the  bosom  of  the  sleeping  maiden. 

"  When  I  get  back,  I  will  bring  in  the  first  model  I 
find,  and  work  the  picture  over,  so  that  to-morrow  the 
thing  will  be  ready,"  said  he  to  himself. 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  still  he  would  not 
be  able  to  hire  such  a  model  as  Panna  Cervi  perma- 
nently and  take  her  with  him ;  at  this  thought  he  was 
sorry. 

Meanwhile  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  studio.  Svirski 
paid,  and  stepped  out. 

"  A  despatch  for  you,"  said  the  concierge. 
The  artist  was  roused  as  if  from  sleep. 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  465 

"  Ah !  Very  well,  give  it  here  ! "  Aiid  taking  the 
despatch,  he  opened  it  impatiently. 

But  he  had  scarcely  cast  his  eyes  on  it,  when  astonish- 
ment and  terror  were  reflected  on  his  face,  for  the  tele- 
gram was  as  follows :  — 

Kresovich  shot  himself  an  hour  ago.     Corne. 

HELENA. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

PANI  ELZEN  met  Svirski  with  a  troubled  and  excited 
face ;  her  eyes  were  dry,  but  reddened,  as  if  from 
fever,  and  full  of  impatience. 

"  Have  you  received  no  letter  ? "  inquired  she,  hurriedly. 

"  No.  I  have  received  nothing  but  your  telegram. 
What  a  misfortune  !  " 

"  I  thought  that  perhaps  he  had  written  to  you." 

"  No.    When  did  it  happen  ?" 

"  This  morning  a  shot  was  heard  in  his  chamber.  A 
servant  ran  in  and  found  him  lifeless." 

"  Was  it  here  in  the  hotel  ?  " 

"  No.    Fortunately  he  moved  to  Coudamine  yesterday." 

"  What  was  the  cause  ?  " 

"  How  am  I  to  know  ? "  answered  she,  impatiently. 

"  So  far  as  I  have  heard  he  was  not  given  to  play." 

"  No.     They  found  money  on  his  person." 

"  You  relieved  him  of  his  duties  yesterday  ? '; 

"  Yes  ;  but  at  his  own  request." 

"Did  he  take  the  dismissal  to  heart?" 

"I  cannot  tell,"  answered  she,  feverishly.  "If  he  had 
wished,  he  might  have  gone  sooner.  But  he  was  a  mad- 
man, and  this  explains  everything.  Why  did  he  not  go 
sooner  ? " 

30 


466  ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

Svirski  looked  at  her  very  attentively. 

"  Calm  yourself,"  said  he. 

But  she,  mistaken  as  to  the  meaning  of  his  words, 
answered,  — 

"  There  is  so  much  that  for  me  is  disagreeable  in  this, 
and  there  may  be  so  much  trouble.  Who  knows  but  I 
shall  have  to  give  some  explanation,  some  evidence  —  can 
I  tell  what  ?  Oh,  a  fatal  history  !  —  besides  there  will  be 
people's  gossip.  First,  Vyadrovski's  —  But  I  wanted  to 
beg  you  to  tell  among  acquaintances,  that  that  unfortu- 
nate lost  at  play,  that  he  lost  even  some  of  my  money, 
and  that  that  was  the  cause  of  his  act.  Should  it  come 
to  testifying  before  a  court,  it  would  be  better  not  to 
say  this,  for  it  might  be  proved  untrue ;  but  before  peo- 
ple, it  is  necessary  to  talk  so.  If  he  had  gone  even  to 
Mentone,  or  to  Nice !  Besides,  God  only  knows  whether 
he  has  not  written  something  before  his  death  purposely 
to  take  revenge  on  me !  Only  let  a  letter  of  that  sort 
reach  the  papers  after  his  death !  From  such  persons 
everything  may  be  expected.  As  it  was,  I  wished  to 
leave  here ;  but  now  I  must  —  " 

Svirski  looked  more  and  more  attentively  at  her  angry 
face,  at  her  compressed  lips,  and  said  at  last,  — 

"  An  unheard  of  thing  ! " 

"  Eeally  unheard  of  !  But  would  it  not  increase  gossip 
were  we  to  go  from  here  to-morrow  ? " 

"  I  do  not  think  it  would,"  said  Svirski. 

Then  he  inquired  about  the  hotel  in  which  Kresovich 
had  shot  himself,  and  declared  that  he  would  go  there, 
get  information  from  the  servants,  and  occupy  himself 
with  the  dead  man. 

She  tried  to  stop  him  with  uncommon  stubborness ; 
till  at  last  he  said,  — 

"Madame,  he  is  not  a  dog,  but  a  man;  and  it  is 
necessary  in  every  case  to  bury  him." 


ON  THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  467 

"  Somebody  will  bury  him  anyhow,"  answered  she. 

But  Svirski  took  leave  of  her  and  went  out.  On  the 
steps  of  the  hotel  he  drew  his  hand  across  his  forehead, 
then  covered  his  head  with  his  hat  and  said,  — 

"  An  unheard  of  thing  !  " 

He  knew  from  experience  to  what  degree  human  selfish- 
ness may  go ;  he  knew  also  that  women  in  selfishness,  as 
well  as  in  devotion,  surpass  the  common  measure  of  men  ; 
he  remembered  that  during  life  he  had  met  typical  per- 
sons in  whom,  under  an  external  crust  of  polish,  was 
hidden  an  animal  selfishness  in  which  all  moral  sense 
ended  exactly  where  personal  interest  began ;  still,  Pani 
Elzen  had  been  able  to  astonish  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  that  unfortunate  was  the 
tutor  of  her  children ;  he  lived  under  the  same  roof 
with  her ;  and  he  was  in  love  with  her.  And  she  ? 
Not  even  one  word  of  pity,  of  sympathy,  of  interest  — 
Nothing  and  nothing !  She  is  angry  at  him  for  causing 
her  trouble,  for  not  having  gone  farther  away,  for  having 
spoiled  her  season,  for  exposing  her  to  the  possibility  of 
appearing  in  court  and  of  being  subjected  to  the  gossip 
of  people  ;  but  the  question  of  what  took  place  with  that 
man  has  not  entered  her  head ;  or  why  he  killed  himself, 
and  if  it  were  not  for  her  sake.  And  in  her  vexation  she 
forgot  even  this,  that  she  was  betraying  herself  before  me ; 
and  if  not  for  her  heart's  sake,  for  her  reason's  sake,  she 
ought  to  have  appeared  before  me  differently.  But  what 
spiritual  barbarism  !  Appearances,  appearances,  and  un- 
der that  French  bodice  and  accent,  absence  of  soul  and 
a  primitive  African  nature,  —  a  genuine  daughter  of  Ham. 
Civilization  stuck  onto  the  skin,  like  powder !  And  this 
same  woman  asks  me  to  report  around  that  he  played 
away  her  money.  Tfu  !  May  a  thunderbolt  split  her ! " 

With  such  thoughts  and  imprecations  he  reached  Con- 


468  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

damine,  where  he  found  easily  the  little  hotel  in  which  the 
event  had  taken  place.  There  was  a  doctor  in  Kresovich's 
room,  also  an  official  of  the  tribunal,  who  rejoiced  at  the 
artist's  arrival,  hoping  that  he  would  be  able  to  give  some 
items  concerning  the  dead  man. 

"  The  suicide,"  said  the  official,  "  left  a  letter  directing 
to  bury  him  in  a  common  ditch  so  as  to  send  the  money 
on  his  person  to  Zurich,  to  a  given  address.  Moreover, 
he  has  burned  all  papers,  as  is  shown  by  traces  in  the 
chimney." 

Svirski  looked  at  Kresovich,  who  was  lying  on  the  bed 
with  open,  terrified  eyes,  and  with  lips  pursed  together,  as 
if  to  whistle. 

"  The  dead  man  considered  himself  an  incurable,"  said 
the,  artist ;  "  he  mentioned  that  himself  to  me,  and  took 
his  life  very  likely  for  that  reason.  He  never  entered 
the  Casino." 

Then  he  told  all  that  he  knew  concerning  Kresovich, 
and  afterward  left  the  money  needed  for  a  separate  grave, 
and  went  out. 

Along  the  road  he  recalled  what  Kresovich  had  said  to 
him  in  Nice  about  microbes,  as  well  as  his  answer  to 
Vyadrovski,  that  he  would  enroll  himself  in  the  party  of 
the  "  silent ; "  and  he  reached  the  conviction  that  the 
young  student  had  really  occupied  himself  for  a  long  time 
with  the  project  of  taking  his  own  life,  and  that  the  main 
cause  of  his  act  was  the  conviction  that  he  was  con- 
demned to  death  in  every  case. 

But  he  understood  that  there  might  be  collateral 
causes,  and  among  them  his  unhappy  love  for  Pani  Elzen, 
and  the  parting  with  her.  These  thoughts  filled  him  with 
sadness.  The  corpse  of  Kresovich,  with  lips  fixed  as  if  for 
whistling,  and  with  the  terror  before  death  in  his  eyes, 
did  not  leave  the  artist's  mind.  But  he  thought  that 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  469 

no  one  would  sink  into  that  terrible  night  without  dread, 
and  that  all  life,  in  view  of  the  inevitableness  of  death,  is 
one  immense,  tragic  absurdity ;  and  he  returned  to  Pani 
Elzen  in  great  depression  of  spirit. 

She  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief  when  she  learned  that 
Kresovich  had  left  no  papers.  She  declared  that  she 
would  send  as  much  money  as  might  be  needed  for  his 
funeral ;  and  only  then  did  she  speak  of  him  with  a  cer- 
tain regret.  She  strove  in  vain,  however,  to  detain 
Svirski  for  a  couple  of  hours.  He  answered  that  he  was 
not  himself  that  day,  and  must  return  home. 

"  Then  we  shall  meet  in  the  evening,"  said  she,  giving 
him  her  hand  at  parting.  "  I  intended  even  to  drop  in 
at  Nice  and  go  with  you." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Svirski,  with  astonishment. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  ?     To  the  '  Formidable.' " 

"  Ah  !     Are  you  going  to  that  ball  ? " 

"  If  you  knew  how  weighed  down  I  am,  especially  after 
such  a  sad  event,  you  would  weep  over  rne.  I  am  sorry, 
too,  for  that  poor  fellow ;  but  it  is  necessary  —  it  is 
necessary  even  for  this  reason,  that  people  should  not 
make  suppositions." 

"  Is  it  ?     Till  we  meet  again  ! "  said  Svirski. 

And  a  moment  later,  while  sitting  in  the  train,  he 
said  to  himself, — 

"  If  I  go  with  you  to  the  '  Formidable,'  or  any  other 
place,  I  am  a  dead  crab  ! " 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

BUT  next  morning,  he  received  Pani  Cervi  and  Panna 
Maria  with  a  gladder  heart.     At  sight  of  the  fair, 
fresh  face  of  the  girl  even  delight  seized  him. 


470  ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

Everything  had  been  prepared  in  the  studio :  the  easel 
was  in  its  place ;  the  sofa  for  the  model  pushed  forward 
and  covered  properly.  Pani  Lageat  had  received  the 
strictest  command  not  to  admit  any  one,  not  even  "  Queen 
Victoria  herself,"  should  she  come.  Svirski  now  opened 
and  now  closed  the  curtains  which  hid  the  window  of 
the  skylight ;  but  while  drawing  the  cords  he  looked 
unceasingly  at  his  charming  model. 

Meanwhile  the  ladies  removed  their  hats,  and  Panna 
Maria  inquired,  — 

"  What  must  I  do  now  ? " 

"  First  of  all,  it  is  necessary  to  let  down  your  hair," 
said  Svirski. 

He  approached  her,  and  she  raised  both  hands  to  her 
head.  It  was  clear  that  this  confused  her  somewhat,  and 
seemed  strange,  but  also  nice.  Svirski  gazed  at  her 
confused  face,  at  her  drooping  eyelashes,  at  her  form  bent 
backward,  at  her  exquisite  outline  of  hips,  and  said  to 
himself  that,  in  that  great  dust  heap  of  Nice,  he  had 
discovered  a  genuine  double  pearl. 

The  hair  fell,  after  a  moment,  on  her  shoulders.  Panna 
Maria  shook  her  head,  wishing  to  spread  her  hair,  which 
then  covered  her  completely. 

"  Corpo  Dio  ! "  exclaimed  Svirski. 

Then  came  the  turn  for  a  more  difficult  task,  —  placing 
the  model. 

Svirski  saw  plainly  that  her  heart  was  beating  with 
more  life  in  the  maiden,  that  her  breast  was  moving 
more  quickly,  that  her  cheeks  were  flushed,  that  she 
had  to  conquer  herself  and  overcome  an  instinctive 
resistance,  which  she  herself  could  not  define,  and  at  the 
same  time  she  was  yielding  with  a  certain  alarm  which 
resembled  an  unknown  delight. 

"  No  !  this  is  no  common  model,"  said  Svirski  to  him- 


ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE.  471 

self;  "this  is  something  else;  and  I  am  not  looking  on 
her  merely  as  an  artist."  In  fact,  he  also  felt  troubled, 
and  his  fingers  trembled  a  little  while  he  was  placing  her 
head  on  the  pillow ;  but,  wishing  to  save  her  and  him- 
self from  embarrassment,  he  spoke  to  her  jestingly,  feign- 
ing temper. 

"  Lie  quietly,  in  that  way  !  Besides,  we  must  do  some- 
thing for  art.  Oh,  the  position  is  perfect  now  !  In  this 
way  the  profile  conies  out  beautifully  on  the  red  back- 
ground. If  you  could  see  it !  But  that  cannot  be. 
You  must  not  laugh!  You  must  sleep.  Now  I  will 
paint." 

And  he  began  to  paint ;  but  wrhile  painting  he  chatted, 
as  his  custom  was,  told  stories,  and  asked  Pani  Cervi 
of  past  times.  He  learned  from  her  that  "  Maria "  had 
held  a  good  position  the  year  before  as  reader  for  a 
Polish  countess,  the  daughter  of  a  great  manufacturer 
of  Lodz,  Atrament  by  name ;  but  the  position  lasted  only 
till  the  countess  learned  that  Maria's  father  and  grand- 
father had  served  in  the  Italian  army.  This  was  a  great 
disappointment,  for  the  dream  of  mother  and  daughter 
had  been  that  Maria  should  hold  such  a  place  with  some 
lady  who  passed  every  winter  in  Nice ;  for  in  that  case 
they  would  have  no  need  to  separate. 

The  artist  was  roused  in  Svirski  meanwhile.  He 
wrinkled  his  brows,  concentrated  his  mind,  looked  across 
the  handle  of  the  brush,  and  painted  persistently.  From 
time  to  time  he  laid  down  the  pallet,  approached  the 
model,  and,  taking  her  lightly  by  the  temples,  corrected 
the  position  of  her  head.  At  such  movements  he  bent 
toward  her  more  nearly  perhaps  than  was  required  by  the 
interest  of  art ;  and,  when  the  warmth  from  her  youthful 
body  struck  him,  when  he  looked  at  her  long  eyelashes 
and  her  lips  slightly  parted,  a  quiver  went  through  his 


472  ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

bones,  his   fingers  began  to   tremble  nervously,  and   in 
spirit  he  called  to  himself,— 

"  Hold  up,  old  man  !  What  the  deuce  is  this  ?  hold  up  ! " 
She  simply  pleased  him  with  his  whole  soul.  Her 
confusion,  her  blushes,  her  timid  glances,  which  still 
were  not  devoid  of  maiden  coquettishness,  made  him 
happy  beyond  expression.  All  this  proved  to  Svirski 
that  she  did  not  look  on  him  as  too  old.  He  felt 
that  he  pleased  her  also.  The  grandfather  in  his  time 
must  have  told  her  wonderful  things  about  his  country- 
men ;  he  had  roused  her  imagination,  perhaps ;  and  now 
at  last  one  of  them  had  come  in  her  way  —  not  some 
common  man,  but  one  honorable  and  famous,  who, 
besides,  had  appeared  as  in  a  fairy  tale,  at  the  moment 
of  direst  need,  with  assistance  and  an  honest  heart. 
How  could  she  help  feeling  sympathy  for  him  and 
looking  at  him  with  interest  and  gratitude  ? 

All  this  caused  the  time  to  pass  for  Svirski  till  midday 
in  such  a  manner  that  he  did  not  even  notice  it.  But  at 
midday  Panna  Maria  was  the  first  to  declare  that  she 
must  return,  for  her  grandfather  was  alone,  and  it  was 
time  to  think  of  lunch  for  him.  Svirski  then  begged  the 
ladies  to  come  in  the  afternoon.  If  they  could  not  leave 
the  old  man  alone,  perhaps  they  had  an  acquaintance 
who  would  consent  to  stay  with  him  for  two  hours. 
Maybe  the  gatekeeper,  or  her  husband,  or  some  one  else 
of  the  family  would  do  so  ?  It  was  a  question  of  the 
picture.  Two  sittings  a  day  would  be  an  excellent 
thing  !  After  that  there  might  be  some  new  work  ;  mean- 
while, two  sittings  a  day  would  be  useful  for  both  sides. 
If  there  should  be  expense  in  finding  some  one  to  care 
for  the  old  man,  he,  Svirski,  would  consider  it  a  favor 
if  he  were  permitted  to  bear  it,  for  first  of  all  he  was 
anxious  about  the  picture. 


ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE.  473 

Two  sittings  were  really  too  profitable  to  be  refused 
by  Pani  Cervi  in  view  of  poverty  at  home.  It  was 
agreed,  therefore,  that  they  would  come  at  two  in 
the  afternoon.  Meanwhile  the  fortunate  Svirski  resolved 
to  conduct  them  home.  At  the  gate  they  were  met 
by  his  hostess,  who  gave  Svirski  a  bunch  of  moss  roses, 
saying  that  they  were  brought  by  two  handsome  boys 
attended  by  a  wonderfully  dressed  servant.  The  boys 
wanted  absolutely  to  enter  the  studio ;  but  she,  remem- 
bering his  command,  did  not  permit  them. 

Svirski  answered  that  she  had  done  well,  then,  taking 
the  roses,  he  gave  them  all  to  Panna  Maria.  After  a 
while  they  were  on  the  Promenade  des  Anglais.  To 
Svirski,  Nice  seemed  beautiful  and  animated  in  a  way 
that  he  had  never  seen  before.  The  variety  and  bus- 
tle on  the  "  Promenade,"  which  had  angered  him  at 
other  times,  began  now  to  amuse  him.  On  the  way 
he  saw  Vyadrovski  and  De  Sinten,  who  halted  at  sight 
of  him.  Svirski  bowed  and  went  on,  but  in  passing 
he  noted  how  De  Sinten  put  a  monocle  to  his  eye  to 
look  at  Panna  Cervi,  and  heard  his  "  Prristi ! " l  full  of 
astonishment.  Both  even  followed  them  awhile,  but 
opposite  the  "  Jetee  Promenade  "  Svirski  called  a  carriage 
and  took  the  ladies  home. 

On  the  way,  he  was  seized  by  a  desire  to  invite  the  whole 
family  to  lunch  ;  but  he  thought  that  there  would  be 
trouble  with  the  old  man,  and  that,  in  view  of  their  short 
acquaintance,  Pani  Cervi  might  be  surprised  at  such  a 
sudden  invitation.  But  he  promised  himself  that  when 
the  grandfather  had  some  person  to  care  for  him  he 
would,  under  pretext  of  saving  time,  arrange  a  lunch  in 
the  studio.  Taking  leave  of  the  mother  and  daughter  at 
the  gate,  he  hurried  into  the  first  hotel  he  found  and 

1  For  the  French  Sapristi. 


474  ON  THE   BRIGHT   SHORE. 

ordered  lunch.  He  swallowed  a  few  kinds  of  food, 
without  knowing  himself  what  he  was  eating.  Pani 
Elzen,  Komulus,  and  Remus,  with  the  moss  roses,  shot 
through  his  mind  repeatedly,  but  in  a  way  which  was 
really  ghost-like.  A  few  days  before  the  beautiful  widow 
and  their  relations  were  questions  of  prime  importance 
for  him,  over  which  he  had  tortured  his  head  not  a 
little.  He  recalled  also  that  internal  struggle  through 
which  he  had  passed  on  the  sea  while  returning  to  Villa 
Franca.  Now  he  said  to  himself,  "  This  has  ceased  to 
exist  for  me,  and  I  will  not  think  again  of  it."  So  he 
felt  not  the  least  alarm,  not  the  least  compunction.  On 
the  contrary,  it  seemed  to  him  that  a  kind  of  oppressive 
burden  had  dropped  from  his  shoulders,  and  all  his 
thoughts  ran  to  Panna  Cervi.  His  eyes  and  his  head 
were  full  of  her ;  by  the  power  of  imagination  he  saw 
her  again,  with  dishevelled  hair  and  closed  eyelids ; 
and  when  he  thought  that  in  an  hour  he  would  touch  her 
temples  with  his  fingers,  that  he  would  bend  over  her 
again  and  feel  the  warmth  radiating  from  her,  he  felt 
elated,  as  if  by  wine,  and  for  the  second  time  asked 
himself,  — 

"  Hei,  old  man,  what  is  happening  thee  ? " 
When  he  reached  home,  he  found  a  telegram  from  Pani 
Elzen,  "  I  expect  you  to  dinner  at  six."  Svirski  crushed 
the  paper  and  put  it  in  his  pocket ;  when  Pani  Cervi  and 
her  daughter  arrived,  he  had  forgotten  it  altogether,  so 
that  when  his  work  was  done  at  five  he  began  to  think 
where  to  dine,  and  was  angry  that  he  had  nothing  to  do 
with  himself  that  evening. 


ON   THE  BRIGHT   SHORE.  475 


CHAPTER   IX. 

NEXT  day  when  Pani  Lageat  brought  a  lunch  for 
three  persons  to  the  studio,  she  stated  that  an  hour 
before  the  same  two  handsome  boys  had  come,  this  time, 
however,  not  with  a  strangely  dressed  servant,  but  with  a 
youthful  and  beautiful  lady. 

"  The  lady  wanted  absolutely  to  see  you ;  but  I  told 
her  that  you  had  gone  to  Antibes." 

"  To  Toulon  !  to  Toulon  ! "  cried  the  artist,  joyously. 

Next  morning  there  was  no  one  to  whom  Pani  Lageat 
could  give  that  answer,  for  only  a  letter  came.  Svirski 
did  not  read  it.  That  day  it  happened  that  while  trying 
to  correct  Panna  Cervi's  "position,"  he  put  his  hand 
under  her  shoulder,  and  raised  her  so  that  their  bosoms 
almost  met,  and  her  breath  struck  his  face.  Meanwhile 
her  face  changed  from  emotion,  and  he  said  to  himself 
that  if  such  a  moment  lasted  longer,  it  would  be  worth 
\vhile  to  give  life  for  it. 

That  evening  he  talked  to  himself  as  follows :  "  The 
senses  are  playing  in  thee,  but  not  as  at  other  times  ;  now 
thy  soul  rushes  forth  after  them,  and  rushes  forth  because 
this  is  a  child  who  in  this  '  pudridero '  of  Nice  has  re- 
mained as  pure  as  a  tear.  This  is  not  even  her  merit,  but 
her  nature ;  where  could  such  another  be  found  ?  This 
time  I  am  not  deceiving  myself,  and  I  am  not  talking  any- 
thing into  myself,  for  reality  is  speaking." 

And  it  seemed  to  him  that  a  sweet  dream  was  taking 
hold  of  him.  Unfortunately,  after  sleep  comes  waking. 
To  Svirski,  it  came  two  days  later  in  the  form  of  one  more 
telegram,  which,  shoved  in  through  an  opening  in  the 


476  ON  THE   BRIGHT   SHORE, 

door  intended  for  letters  and  newspapers,  fell  on  the  floor 
in  presence  of  both  women. 

Panna  Maria,  while  preparing  to  let  down  her  hair,  saw 
the  telegram  first,  and,  raising  the  envelope,  handed  it  to 
Svirski. 

He  opened  it  unwillingly,  looked ;  and  confusion  was 
evident  on  his  face. 

"  Pardon  me,  ladies,"  said  he,  after  a  while.  "  I  have 
received  such  news  that  I  must  go  at  once." 

"  I  hope  at  least  that  it  is  nothing  bad,"  said  Panna 
Maria,  with  alarm. 

"  No,  no !  But  perhaps  I  shall  not  be  able  to  return  to 
the  afternoon  sitting.  In  every  case  work  is  over  for 
to-day;  but  to-morrow  I  shall  be  calm." 

Then  he  took  leave  of  them  somewhat  feverishly,  but 
with  exceeding  cordiality,  and  next  moment  he  was  in  a 
carriage  which,  at  his  command,  was  to  go  straight  to 
Monte  Carlo. 

When  he  had  passed  the  "  Jete'e  Promenade,"  he 
took  out  the  telegram  and  read  it  again.  It  was  as 
follows :  — • 

I  expect  you  this  afternoon ;  if  you  do  not  come  by  the 
four  o'clock  train,  I  shall  know  what  to  think,  and  how 
to  act.  MORPHINE. 

Svirski  was  simply  frightened  at  the  signature,  espe- 
cially as  he  was  under  the  recent  impression  of  the  event 
with  Kresovich.  "  Who  knows,"  said  he  in  his  mind, 
"  to  what  a  woman  may  be  brought,  not  by  genuine  love, 
but  by  wounded  vanity  ?  I  should  not  have  acted  as 
I  have.  It  was  easy  to  answer  her  first  letter — and 
break  with  her.  It  is  not  proper  to  trifle  with  any 
one,  whether  good  or  bad.  At  present  I  must  break  with 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  477 

her  decisively;  but  I  must  go  without  waiting  for  the 
four  o'clock  train." 

And  he  urged  on  the  driver.  At  moments  he  strength- 
ened himself  with  the  hope  that  Pani  Elzeri  would  not,  in 
any  case,  attempt  her  own  life.  That  seemed  utterly 
unlike  her.  But  at  moments  he  was  possessed  by  doubt. 
If  that  monstrous  egotism  of  hers  is  turned  into  a  feel- 
ing of  offence,  would  it  not  urge  her  to  some  insane 
act? 

He  remembered  that  there  was  a  certain  stubborn- 
ness in  her  character,  a  certain  decision,  and  no  little 
courage.  Eegard  for  her  children,  it  is  true,  ought  to 
restrain  her ;  but  did  she  really  care  for  those  children  ? 
And  at  thought  of  what  might  happen,  the  hair  rose 
on  his  head.  Conscience  moved  in  him  again,  and  a 
profound  internal  struggle  began.  The  picture  of  Panna 
Cervi  passed  before  his  eyes  every  moment,  rousing 
bitter  and  immense  regret.  He  repeated  to  himself,  it 
is  true,  that  he  was  going  to  break  with  Pani  Elzen;  that 
he  would  break  with  her  decisively ;  at  the  bottom  of  his 
soul,  however,  he  felt  a  great  fear.  What  would  happen 
if  that  woman,  vain  and  malicious,  as  well  as  determined, 
should  say  to  him,  "Thee,  or  morphine"?  And  mean- 
while, with  the  alarm  and  uncertainty,  there  was  born  in 
his  mind  a  disgust ;  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  ques- 
tion could  be  put  that  way  only  by  some  counterfeit 
heroine  belonging  to  "vile  literature."  But  still  what 
would  happen  if  she  should  put  it  so  ?  In  society,  espe- 
cially in  the  society  of  Nice,  there  are  many  women  who 
belong  to  "  vile  literature." 

In  the  midst  of  these  thoughts,  and  in  a  cloud  of  gray 
dust,  he  arrived  finally  at  Monte  Carlo,  and  ordered  the 
driver  to  stop  in  front  of  the  Hotel  de  Paris.  But  before 
he  had  time  to  alight  he  descried  Romulus  and  Remus 


478  ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

on  the  turf  with  netted  clubs  in  their  hands,  throwing 
up  balls  under  the  care  of  a  Cossack  whom  Pani  Lageat 
had  called  the  strangely  dressed  servant.  They,  when 
they  saw  him,  ran  up. 

"  Good-day,  sir  !  " 

"  Good-day." 

"  Good-day !     Is  mamma  upstairs  ? " 

"  No.     Mamma  has  gone  bicycling  with  M.  de  Sinten." 

Silence  followed. 

"  Ah  !  mamma  has  gone  bicycling  with  De  Sinten  ? " 
repeated  Svirski.  "  Well ! " 

And  after  a  while  he  added,  — 

"  True  !  she  expected  me  only  at  four  o'clock." 

Then  he  began  to  laugh. 

"  The  tragedy  ends  in  a  farce.  But  this,  however,  is 
the  Riviera !  Still  what  an  ass  I  am  ! " 

"Will  you  wait  for  mamma?"  asked  Romulus. 

"No.  Listen,  my  boys.  Tell  your  mamma  that  I 
came  to  say  good-bye  to  her,  and  that  I  am  sorry  not  to 
find  her,  because  I  am  going  on  a  journey  to-day." 

Then  he  gave  directions  to  return  to  Nice.  That 
evening  he  received  one  telegram  more,  in  which  there 
was  the  single  word,  "  Scoundrel ! " 

After  reading  it  he  fell  into  excellent  humor,  for  the 
telegram  was  not  signed  this  time,  "  Morphine." 


CHAPTER   X. 

'T^WO  weeks  later  the  picture  "  Sleep  and  Death  "  was 
finished.  Svirski  began  another  which  he  in- 
tended to  call  "Euterpe."  But  his  work  did  not  ad- 
vance. He  said  that  the  light  was  too  sharp ;  and  for 
whole  sittings,  instead  of  painting,  he  was  looking  at  the 


ON   THE   BRIGHT   SHORE.  479 

bright  face  of  Panna  Cervi.  He  seemed  to  be  seeking 
the  proper  expression  for  Euterpe.  He  gazed  so  persist- 
ently that  the  lady  grew  red  under  the  influence  of  his 
eyes;  he  felt  in  his  breast  an  increasing  disquiet.  At 
last,  on  a  certain  morning,  he  said  suddenly,  in  a  kind  of 
strange,  altered  voice, — 

"  I  notice  that  you  ladies  love  Italy  immensely." 

"  We  and  grandfather,"  answered  Panna  Cervi. 

"  I,  too.  Half  my  life  passes  in  Borne  and  in  Florence. 
There  the  light  is  not  so  sharp  at  present,  and  it  would 
be  possible  to  paint  whole  days.  Oh,  yes !  Who  could 
help  loving  Italy!  And  do  you  know  what  I  think 
sometimes  ? " 

Panna  Maria  lowered  her  head,  and,  opening  her  lips 
somewhat,  began  to  look  at  him  carefully,  as  she  always 
did  when  listening  to  him. 

"  I  think  that  every  man  has  two  fatherlands  :  one  his 
own,  the  nearer,  and  the  other  Italy.  Only  think,  all 
culture,  all  art,  all  science,  everything  came  from  there. 
Let  us  take,  for  instance,  the  Eenaissance.  .  .  .  Really, 
all  are,  if  not  the  children,  at  least  the  grandchildren  of 
Italy." 

"  True,"  answered  Panna  Maria. 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  I  mentioned  that  I  have  a 
studio  in  the  Via  Margutta  in  Rome,  and  that  when  the 
light  becomes  too  sharp  in  this  studio  I  am  yearning  for 
that  one.  Here  it  is  —  if  we  should  all  go  to  Rome  — 
that  would  be  perfect!  Afterward  we  could  go  to 
Warsaw." 

"There  is  no  way  to  carry  out  that  plan,"  answered 
Panna  Maria,  with  a  sad  smile. 

But  he  approached  her  quickly,  and,  taking  her  two 
hands  began  to  speak,  looking  at  her  with  the  greatest 
tenderness  in  his  eyes. 


480  ON  THE  BRIGHT   SHORE. 

"  There  is  a  way,  dear  lady,  there  is  a  way !  Do  you 
not  divine  it  ? " 

And  when  she  grew  pale  from  happiness,  he  pressed 
both  her  palms  to  his  breast,  and  added,  — 

"  Give  me  thyself  and  thine  — 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 


31 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  rent  for  that  studio  in  which  Antek  Svyatetski 
and  I  lived  and  painted,  was  unpaid,  first,  because 
we  had  about  five  rubles  joint  capital,  and,  second,  because 
we  felt  a  sincere  repugnance  to  paying  house-rent. 

People  call  us  artists  squanderers ;  as  for  me,  I  would 
rather  drink  away  my  money  than  waste  it  in  paying  a 
house-owner. 

Our  house-owner  was  not  a  bad  fellow  though,  and, 
moreover,  we  found  means  of  defence  against  him. 

When  he  came  to  dun  us,  which  was  usually  in  the 
morning,  Antek,  who  slept  on  a  straw  bed  on  the  floor, 
and  covered  himself  with  a  Turkish  curtain  used  by  us 
as  a  background  for  portraits,  would  rise  to  a  sitting  pos- 
ture, and  say  in  sepulchral  tones,  — 

"  It  is  well  that  I  see  you,  for  I  dreamed  that  you  were 
dead." 

The  house-owner,  who  was  superstitious,  and  dreaded 
death  evidently,  was  confused  at  once  and  beyond  meas- 
ure. Antek  would  throw  himself  back  on  the  straw  bed, 
stretch  his  legs,  fold  his  hands  across  his  breast,  and 
continue,  — 

"  You  were  just  like  this ;  you  had  white  gloves  on 
your  hands,  the  fingers  were  too  long;  on  your  feet  patent- 


484  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

leather  boots;  for  the  rest,  you  were  not  changed 
much." 

Then  I  would  add,  "  Sometimes  those  dreams  come 
true." 

It  seems  that  this  "  sometimes  "  brought  the  man  to 
despair.  At  last  he  would  fall  into  a  rage,  slam  the  door 
after  him ;  and  we  could  hear  him  rush  downstairs  four 
steps  at  a  time,  swearing  by  what  the  world  stands  on. 
Still  the  honest  soul  did  not  like  to  send  the  house-bailiff 
to  us.  In  truth,  there  was  not  much  to  take ;  and  he 
had  calculated  that  were  he  to  bring  other  artists  to 
that  studio,  and  the  kitchen  adjoining,  the  story  would 
be  the  same,  or  still  worse. 

Our  sharp  method  grew  dull  in  time,  however.  The 
house-owner  became  accustomed  to  the  thought  of  death. 
Antek  had  the  idea  to  finish  three  pictures  in  the  style 
of  Wurtz,  "Death,"  "Burial,"  and  "Waking  from  Leth- 
argy." Naturally  our  man  was  to  figure  in  all  of 
them. 

Such  funereal  subjects  became  a  specialty  for  Antek, 
who,  as  he  says  himself,  paints  "  corpses  big,  medium, 
and  small  size."  This  is  the  reason,  of  course,  why  no 
one  buys  his  pictures ;  for,  subjects  aside,  he  has  talent. 
He  has  sent  to  the  Paris  Salon  two  "  corpses,"  and  as  I 
also  sent  my  "  Jews  on  the  Vistula,"  which  in  the  cata- 
logue of  the  Salon  are  christened  "  Jews  on  the  Baby- 
lon," we  were  both  waiting  impatiently  for  the  decision  of 
the  jury. 

Of  course  Antek  foresaw  that  the  worst  would  hap- 
pen, that  the  jury  would  be  made  up  of  perfect  idiots, 
and  even  if  not  made  up  of  idiots,  I  am  an  idiot,  he  is 
an  idiot,  our  pictures  are  idiotic,  and  reward  for  them 
would  be  the  summit  of  idiocy ! 

How  much  blood  that  monkey  has  spoiled  in  me  dur- 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  485 

ing  the  two  years  that  we  have  lived  in  one  studio,  I 
cannot  tell. 

Antek's  whole  ambition  is  to  pass  for  a  moral  "  corpse." 
In  company  he  poses  as  a  drunkard,  which  he  is  not. 
He  will  pour  down  two  or  three  tiny  glasses  of  vodka, 
and  turn  to  see  if  we  are  looking ;  if  not  sure  that  we 
are,  he  will  punch  one  of  us  with  his  elbow  frown  and 
say,  in  subterranean  tones,  — 

"  Yes,  how  low  I  have  fallen,  that  far !     Is  it  possible  ? " 

We  answer  that  he  is  a  fool.  He  falls  into  a  rage 
then ;  nothing  can  bring  him  into  worse  humor  than  to 
show  disbelief  in  his  moral  fall.  Still,  he  is  an  honest 
fellow  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones. 

Once  he  and  I  went  astray  in  the  mountains  of  Salz- 
kammergut,  near  Zell  am  See.  Since  night  had  come  it 
was  easy  to  break  one's  neck. 

"Dost  hear,"  said  Antek  to  me,  "thou  hast  more 
talent  than  I,  therefore  life  is  a  greater  loss  to  thee.  I 
will  go  ahead.  If  I  fall,  thou  wilt  stay  on  the  spot  till 
morning,  and  in  the  morning  thou  canst  save  thyself 
somehow." 

"Thou  wilt  not  go  ahead;  I  will  go,  because  I  can 
see  better." 

"  If  I  don't  break  my  neck  to-day,"  said  Antek,  "  I  '11 
finish  in  the  canal  —  it's  all  one  to  me." 

We  fall  to  disputing.  Meanwhile  it  has  become  as 
dark  as  in  a  cellar.  In  the  end  of  ends  we  conclude  to 
go  at  hazard.  We  advance  cautiously. 

The  place  is  wide  enough  at  first,  but  afterward  nar- 
rower and  narrower.  As  far  as  we  can  see,  on  the 
right  and  left  are  abysses,  probably  bottomless. 

The  ridge  grows  still  narrower,  and,  what  is  more, 
pieces  of  stone,  loosened  by  the  wind,  fall  away  from 
under  our  feet. 


486  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

"  I  will  go  on  my  hands  and  knees ;  't  is  impossible  to 
go  any  other  way ! "  said  Antek. 

In  truth,  'tis  impossible  to  go  any  other  way,  so 
we  go  on  our  hands  and  knees,  advancing  like  two 
chimpanzees. 

But  soon  it  appears  that  that  too  is  impossible.  The 
back  of  the  cliff  becomes  as  narrow  as  a  horse's  back. 
Antek  sits  astride  of  it,  I  also,  and  leaning  on  our  hands 
put  down  before  us  we  pushed  forward  with  uncommon 
damage  to  our  clothing.  After  a  certain  time  I  hear  the 
voice  of  my  comrade, — 

"Vladek?" 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  ridge  has  come  to  an  end." 

"  And  what  is  there  beyond  ? " 

"Emptiness  —  there  must  be  a  precipice." 

"  Take  a  stone  and  throw  it,  we  will  listen  to  hear  if  it 
is  a  long  time  falling." 

In  the  darkness  I  hear  Antek  feeling  to  find  a  frag- 
ment of  crumbling  rock. 

"  I  am  throwing."  said  he,  "  listen." 

I  open  both  ears. 

Silence ! 

"  Have  n't  you  heard  anything  ? " 

"  No  ! " 

"  We  have  ended  up  nicely !  The  place  must  be  a 
hundred  fathoms  deep." 

"  Throw  once  more." 

Antek  finds  a  larger  stone,  throws  it. 

No  sound ! 

"  What  does  this  mean,  no  bottom,  or  what  ? "  asked 
Antek. 

"  Hard  to  help  it !     We  will  sit  here  till  morning." 

We    are    sitting    there.     Antek   throws   a   couple   of 


THAT  THIRD  WOMAN.  487 

stones  more ;  all  in  vain.     An  hour  passes,  a  second,  at 
last  I  hear  my  friend's  voice,  — 

"  Vladek,  but  don't  go  to  sleep — hast  a  cigarette?" 

It  appears  that  I  have  cigarettes,  but  we  have  used 
up  our  matches.  Despair !  The  hour  may  be  one 
in  the  morning,  or  not  even  so  late.  Very  fine  rain  be- 
gins to  fall.  Around  us,  darkness  impenetrable.  I  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  people  who  live  in  towns  or  in 
villages  have  no  idea  of  what  silence  is,  —  silence  like 
that  which  surrounds  us,  silence  which  rings  in  our  ears. 
I  almost  hear  the  blood  coursing  in  my  veins ;  I  hear  the 
beating  of  my  own  heart  perfectly.  At  first  the  position 
interests  me.  To  sit  in  the  midst  of  the  silent  night  on 
the  back  of  a  cliff,  as  on  a  horse,  and  right  over  a  bottom- 
less abyss,  that  could  not  be  done  by  some  shopkeeper 
of  the  city ;  but  soon  the  air  becomes  cold,  and,  to  crown 
everything,  Antek  begins  to  philosophize,  — 

"What  is  life  ?     Life  is  just  swinishness.     People  talk 

about  art !  art !     May  I  and  art  be  .     Art  is  pure 

monkeying  with  nature,  and  meanness  besides.  Twice 
I  have  seen  the  Salon.  Painters  sent  in  so  many  pic- 
tures that  one  might  have  made  canvas  beds  of  them 
for  all  the  Jews  living ;  and  what  were  these  pictures  ? 
The  lowest  possible  pandering  to  shopkeepers'  tastes, 
painted  for  money,  or  the  stuffing  of  stomachs.  A  chaos 
of  art,  nothing  more !  Were  that  art,  I  would  that  par- 
alysis had  struck  it ;  luckily  there  is  no  real  art  upon 
earth  —  there  is  only  nature.  Maybe  nature  is  swinish- 
ness also.  The  best  would  be  to  jump  down  here  — 
and  end  everything  quickly.  I  would  do  so  if  I  had 
vodka ;  but  as  I  have  no  vodka,  I  will  not,  for  I  have 
made  a  vow  not  to  die  sober." 

I  was  used  to  this  gabbling  of  Antek's ;  still,  in  that 
silence  and  bewilderment,  in  cold,  in  darkness,  at  the 


488  THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 

edge  of  a  precipice,  his  words  made  even  me  gloomy. 
Fortunately  he  talked  himself  out  and  stopped.  He 
threw  a  couple  of  stones  more,  repeated  a  couple  of 
times  more,  "  Not  a  sound,"  and  then  for  three  hours  we 
were  silent. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  daybreak  would  come  before 
long,  when  suddenly  we  heard  a  calling  and  the  sound 
of  wings. 

It  was  dark  yet,  and  I  could  see  nothing ;  I  was 
certain,  however,  that  eagles  were  beginning  to  circle 
over  the  precipice.  "  Kra !  kra ! "  was  heard  with  greater 
force  above  and  in  the  darkness.  It  astonished  me  to 
hear  such  a  multitude  of  voices,  just  as  if  whole  legions 
of  eagles  were  passing.  But,  happen  what  might,  they 
were  heralding  daylight. 

After  a  while,  I  saw  my  hands  resting  on  the  rocky 
edge ;  then  Antek's  shoulders  were  outlined  in  front  of 
me,  precisely  like  a  dark  object  on  a  ground  somewhat 
less  dark.  That  ground  grew  paler  each  instant.  Then 
a  rich,  light  silver  tone  began  to  shine  in  on  the  rocks 
and  on  Antek's  shoulders.  This  color  filled  the  dark- 
ness more  and  more,  just  as  if  into  that  darkness  some 
one  were  pouring  a  silver  liquid  which  permeated  it, 
mixed  with  it,  and  from  black  made  it  gray,  from  gray 
pearl-color.  There  was  also  a  certain  severity  and  damp- 
ness about  us ;  not  only  the  cliff  but  the  air  too  seemed 
moist. 

Now  more  light  comes  every  moment.  I  am  looking, 
trying  to  fix  in  my  mind  those  changes  in  tone,  and  am 
painting  a  little  in  my  soul,  when  all  at  once  Antek's  cry 
interrupts  me,  — 

"Tfu!  idiots!" 

And  his  shoulders  vanish  from  my  eyes. 

"  Antek  ! "  I  cry,  "  what  are  thou  doing  ? " 


THAT  THIRD  WOMAN.  489 

"Don't  howl !  look  here  !  " 

I  bend  over,  look  —  what  appears  ?  I  am  sitting  on 
a  rocky  cliff  which  slopes  down  to  a  meadow,  lying  per- 
haps a  yard  and  a  half  below  me.  The  moss  deadened 
the  sound  of  the  stones,  for  the  meadow  is  very  level; 
at  a  distance  the  road  is  visible,  and  on  it  crows,  which 
I  took  for  eagles.  To  walk  home  with  the  greatest  com- 
fort it  was  merely  necessary  to  take  our  legs  off  the 
rock. 

Meanwhile,  we  had  been  sitting  on  that  rock,  our 
teeth  chattering,  through  the  whole  of  God's  night. 

I  know  not  why,  but  while  waiting  in  the  studio 
with  Antek  for  the  house-owner,  that  adventure  of  a 
year  and  a  half  before  came  to  my  mind,  as  if  it  had 
happened  the  previous  day.  That  recollection  gave  me 
great  solace ;  therefore  I  said  at  once,  — 

"Dost  remember,  Antek,  how  we  thought  ourselves 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  and  it  turned  out 
that  there  was  a  level  road  right  before  us  ?  It  may 
be  the  same  to-day.  We  are  as  poor  as  church  mice,  as 
thou  knowest ;  the  house-owner  wants  to  turn  us  out  of 
the  studio ;  meanwhile  all  things  may  change.  Let  some 
sluice  of  glory  and  money  open  out  to  us." 

Antek  was  sitting  just  then  on  the  straw  bed,  pulling 
on  his  boots,  grumbling  the  while  that  life  was  made  up 
of  pulling  boots  on  in  the  morning  and  pulling  them 
off  at  night;  that  only  the  man  had  sense  who  had 
courage  to  hang  himself,  which,  if  he,  Antek,  had  not 
done  hitherto,  it  was  simply  because  he  was  not  only  a. 
supreme  fool,  but  a  low  coward  besides. 

My  outburst  of  optimism  interrupted  his  meditation ; 
so  he  raised  his  fishy  eyes  and  said,  — 

"  Thou,  beyond  all  men,  hast  something  to  rejoice  at ; 
the  other  day  Stislovski  drove  thee  from  his  house  and 


490  THAT  THIRD   WOMAN. 

the  heart  of  his  daughter ;  to-day  the  house-owner  will 
drive  thee  from  the  studio." 

Alas  !  Antek  told  the  truth.  Three  days  before  I  was 
the  betrothed  of  Kazia  Suslovski,  but  on  Tuesday  morn- 
ing— yes,  on  Tuesday,  I  received  from  her  father  the 
following  letter:  — 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Our  daughter,  yielding  to  the  persuasion 
of  her  parents,  has  consented  to  break  the  tie  which  for 
her  would  have  been  a  misfortune.  She  may  find  a  refuge 
at  all  times  -on  the  bosom  of  her  mother  and  under  the  roof 
of  her  father ;  but  it  pertains  specially  to  us,  her  parents, 
to  avoid  this  extremity.  Not  only  your  material  position, 
but  your  frivolous  character,  which,  in  spite  of  every  effort, 
you  are  unable  to  conceal,  inclines  us  and  our  daughter  to 
return  you  your  word,  and  to  break  with  you  further  rela- 
tions, which,  however,  does  not  change  our  good  will  toward 
you.  With  esteem, 

HELIODOR  SUSLOVSKI. 

Such  was  the  letter ;  I  agree  more  or  less  with  this, 
that  out  of  my  material  position  dog's  boots  might  be 
made ;  but  what  that  pathetic  gorilla  knows  of  my 
character  I,  in  truth,  do  not  understand. 

Kazia's  head  brings  to  mind  types  from  the  time  of 
the  Directory ;  and  it  would  be  finer  if  she  would  dress 
her  hair,  not  in  the  fashion  of  to-day,  but  of  that  time. 
I  tried  even  to  beg  her  to  do  so,  but  in  vain,  since  she 
has  no  mind  for  such  things.  But  she  has  a  complexion 
as  warm  as  if  Fortuni  had  painted  it. 

For  that  very  reason  I  loved  her  sincerely ;  and  the 
first  day,  after  receiving  the  letter  from  her  father,  I  went 
about  as  if  poisoned.  Only  on  the  second  day,  and  that 
in  the  evening,  did  I  feel  a  little  easier,  and  say  to  my- 
self, "  If  not,  then  not."  It  helped  me  most  to  bear  the 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  491 

blow  that  I  had  my  head  filled  with  the  Salon  and  with 
my  "Jews."  I  was  convinced  that  the  picture  was  a 
good  one,  though  Antek  predicted  that  it  would  be 
thrown,  not  only  out  of  the  Salon,  but  out  of  the  ante- 
chamber. I  began  the  picture  the  year  before  in  this 
way :  It  is  evening.  I  am  walking  alone  for  amusement 
by  the  Vistula.  I  look  ;  I  see  a  basket  of  apples  lost  in 
the  river ;  street  Arabs  are  fishing  the  apples  out  of  the 
water;  and  on  the  bank  are  sitting  a  whole  Jewish 
family  in  such  despair  that  they  are  not  even  lamenting, 
they  are  clasping  their  hands,  and  looking  into  the  water, 
as  dumb  as  statues.  There  is  an  old  Jew  there,  a  patri- 
arch, a  poor  devil ;  an  old  Jewess ;  a  young  Jew,  a  colos- 
sal creature  as  big  as  Judas  Maccabseus ;  a  maiden,  freckled 
somewhat,  but  with  immense  character  in  the  outline  of 
her  nose  and  mouth ;  finally  two  little  Jews.  Twilight 
is  coming ;  the  river  has  a  bronze  reflection  which  is 
simply  miraculous.  The  trees  on  Saxon  Island  are  all 
in  the  light  of  evening;  beyond  the  island  is  water, 
widely  spread,  tones  purple,  ultra-marine,  tones  almost 
steel,  then  again  tones  passing  into  purple  and  violet. 
The  aerial  perspective,  splendid!  The  transition  from 
some  tones  to  others  so  subtile  and  marvellous  that  the 
soul  just  pipes  in  a  man ;  round  about  it  is  quiet,  bright 
calm.  Melancholy  over  all  things  so  that  there  is  a 
wish  to  weep  ;  and  that  group  in  mourning,  sitting  as  if 
each  person  in  it  had  been  posing  in  studios. 

In  a  moment  the  thought  flashed  into  my  head :  That 
is  my  picture ! 

I  had  my  portfolio  with  me,  and  colors,  for  I  never  go 
walking  without  them ;  I  begin  to  sketch  on  the  spot, 
but  I  say  to  the  Jews,  — 

"  Sit  as  you  are,  don't  move  !  — •  a  ruble  to  each  one  at 
dark." 


492  THAT  THIRD   WOMAN. 

My  Jews  see  the  point,  in  a  twinkle,  and,  as  it  were, 
grow  to  the  ground.  I  sketch  and  sketch.  The  street 
Arabs  crawl  out  of  the  water,  and  soon  I  hear  behind 
me,  — 

"  Painter  !  painter !  When  a  man  steals  a  thing,  he 
says  that  he  found  it." 

But  I  answer  them  in  their  jargon,  and  win  them  at 
once ;  they  even  stop  throwing  chips  at  the  Jews,  so  as 
not  to  injure  my  work.  But,  as  an  offset,  my  group  fall 
unexpectedly  into  good  humor. 

"Jews,"  cry  I,  "be  sorrowful;"  but  the  old  woman 
answers,  — 

"  With  permission,  Pan  artist,  how  can  we  be  sorrowful 
when  you  promise  us  each  one  a  ruble  ?  Let  him  be  sad 
who  has  no  profit." 

I  have  to  threaten  them  that  I  will  not  pay. 

I  sketched  for  two  evenings ;  then  they  posed  for  me 
two  months  in  the  studio.  Let  Antek  say  what  he 
pleases,  the  picture  is  good,  for  there  is  nothing  cold  in  it ; 
it  has  pure  truth  and  a  tremendous  lot  of  nature.  I  left 
even  the  freckles  on  the  young  Jewess.  The  faces  might 
be  more  beautiful ;  but  they  could  not  be  truer  or  have 
greater  character. 

I  thought  so  much  of  this  picture  that  I  bore  the  loss 
of  Kazia  more  easily.  When  Antek  reminded  me  of  her, 
the  subject  seemed  one  of  long  ago.  Meanwhile,  my 
comrade  pulled  on  his  other  boot,  and  I  heated  the 
samovar.  Old  Antonia  came  with  cakes  ;  Antek  had  been 
persuading  this  woman  in  vain  for  a  year  to  hang  herself. 
We  sat  down  to  tea. 

"  Why  art  thou  so  glad  ? "  asked  Antek,  peevishly. 

"  Because  I  know  that  thou  wilt  see  something  of 
uncommon  interest  to-day." 

At  this  moment  we  hear  steps  approaching  the  studio. 


THAT  THIRD  WOMAN.  493 

"  Thy  house-owner !  There  is  thy  '  something  un- 
common ' ! " 

Saying  this,  Antek  gulps  down  his  tea,  which  is  so  hot 
that  tears  fill  his  eyes.  Up  he  springs ;  and  since  our 
little  kitchen  is  in  the  passage,  he  hides  in  the  studio 
behind  the  costumes,  and  from  his  hiding-place  cries,  with 
a  panting  voice,  — 

"  Thou  !  he  loves  thee  immensely,  talk  thou  to  him." 

"  He  is  dying  for  thee  ! "  answer  I,  flying  to  the  cos- 
tumes, "  talk  thou  to  him!" 

Meanwhile  the  door  opens,  and  who  comes  in  ?  Not 
the  house-owner,  but  the  watchman  of  the  house  in  which 
the  Suslovskis  are  living. 

We  rush  out  from  behind  the  costumes. 

"  I  have  a  letter  for  you,"  says  the  watchman. 

I  take  the  letter.  By  Hermes !  it  is  from  Kazia  1  I 
tear  open  the  envelope,  and  read  as  follows,  — 

I  am  certain  that  my  parents  will  forgive  us.  Come  at 
once ;  never  mind  the  early  hour.  We  have  just  returned 
from  the  waters  in  the  garden.  KAZIA. 

I  have  no  idea  what  the  parents  really  have  to  forgive 
me,  but  neither  have  I  time  to  think  of  it,  for  I  am 
losing  my  head  from  amazement.  Only  after  a  while  do 
I  give  the  letter  to  Antek,  and  say  to  the  watchman,  — 

"Friend,  tell  the  young  lady  that  I  will  come  right 
away  —  wait,  I  have  no  small  money,  but  here  are  three 
rubles  [all  I  have]  change  the  bill,  take  a  ruble  for  your- 
self, and  bring  me  the  rest." 

Speaking  in  parenthesis,  the  monster  took  the  three 
rubles,  and  did  not  show  himself  again.  He  knew,  the 
abortion,  that  I  would  not  raise  a  scandal  at  Suslov ski's, 
and  took  advantage  of  the  position  most  dishonorably. 
But  at  the  time  I  did  n't  even  notice  it. 


494  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

"  Well,  Antek,  what  ? "  ask  I. 
"  Nothing  !     Every  calf  will  find  its  butcher." 
The  haste  with  which  I  was  dressing  did  not  permit 
me  to  find  an  answer  befitting  this  insult  from  Antek. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

A  QUAETEE  of  an  hour  later  I  ring  at  Suslovski's. 
x\  Kazia  herself  opens  the  door.  She  is  comely ; 
she  has  about  her  yet  the  warmth  of  sleep,  and  also  the 
freshness  of  morning,  which  she  brought  from  the  garden 
in  the  folds  of  her  muslin  robe,  which  is  pale  blue  in  color. 
Her  hat,  just  removed,  has  dishevelled  her  hair  some- 
what. Her  face  is  smiling ;  her  eyes  are  smiling ;  her 
moist  lips  are  smiling,  —  she  is  just  like  the  morning.  I 
seize  her  hands,  kiss  them,  and  kiss  her  arms  to  the 
elbows.  She  bends  to  my  ear  and  inquires, — 

"But  who  loves  better?" 

Then  she  leads  me  by  the  hand  to  the  presence  of  her 
parents.  Old  Suslovski  has  the  mien  of  a  Eoman  who  is 
sacrificing  pro  patria  the  life  of  his  only  child;  the 
mother  is  dropping  tears  into  her  coffee,  for  both  are  at 
coffee.  But  they  rise  at  sight  of  us,  and  Papa  Suslovski 
speaks,  — 

"  Eeason  and  duty  would  command  me  to  answer,  no ! 
but  the  heart  of  a  parent  has  its  rights  —  if  this  is  weak- 
ness, let  God  judge  me  ! " 

Here  he  raises  his  eyes  in  proof  that  he  will  be  ready 
to  answer,  if  the  tribunal  of  Heaven  begins  to  write  a 
protocol  that  moment.  I  had  never  seen  anything  more 
Eoman  in  my  life,  unless  macaroni  sold  on  the  Corso. 
The  moment  is  so  impressive  that  a  hippopotamus  might 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  495 

burst  from  emotion.  The  solemnity  is  increased  by  Pani 
Suslovski,  who  crosses  her  hands,  and  says  in  a  tearful 
voice,  — 

"  My  children,  should  you  have  trouble  in  the  world  at 
any  time  take  refuge  here  —  here ! " 

While  saying  this,  she  pointed  to  her  bosom. 

She  could  not  fool  me !  I  was  not  to  be  taken  for 
preservation  there  —  there  !  If  Kazia  had  offered  me  a 
similar  refuge,  it  would  have  been  different.  Still  I  am 
amazed  at  the  honesty  of  the  Suslovskis,  and  my  heart 
is  filled  with  gratitude.  I  drink  so  many  glasses  of 
coffee  from  emotion  that  the  Suslovskis  begin  to  cast 
anxious  glances  at  the  coffee-pot  and  the  cream.  Kazia 
fills  my  cup  continually ;  I  try  at  the  same  time  to  press 
her  foot  under  the  table.  But  she  draws  it  back  always, 
shaking  her  head  meanwhile,  and  smiling  so  roguishly 
that  I  know  not  how  I  escaped  jumping  out  of  my 
skin. 

I  sit  an  hour  and  a  half ;  but  at  last  I  must  go,  for  in 
the  studio  Bobus  is  waiting  for  me,  —  Bobus  who  takes 
drawing-lessons,  and  leaves  me  a  note  each  time,  with  a 
coat  of  arms  on  it,  but  I  lose  those  notes  generally. 
Kazia  and  her  mother  conduct  me  to  the  entrance ;  I  am 
angry  at  that,  for  I  want  Kazia  alone  to  conduct  me. 
What  a  mouth  she  has ! 

My  road  leads  through  the  city  garden.  It  is  full  of 
people  coming  from  the  waters.  On  the  way  I  notice 
that  all  halt  at  sight  of  me.  I  hear  whispers,  "  Magor- 
ski !  Magorski !  that 's  he  —  Young  ladies,  dressed  in 
muslin  of  every  shade  under  which  their  forms  are  out- 
lined wonderfully,  cast  glances  at  me  which  seem  as  if 
wishing  to  say,  "  Enter  !  the  dwelling  is  ready  ! "  What 
the  devil,  am  I  so  famous,  or  what  ?  I  fail  to  understand. 

I  go  on  —  always  the   same  thing.     At  the  entrance 


496  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

of  the  studio,  I  come  against  the  house-owner,  as  a  ship 
against  a  rock.  Oh,  the  rent ! 

But  the  man  approaches  me  and  says,  — 

"My  dear  sir,  though  I  have  annoyed  you  some- 
times, believe  me,  I  have  so  much  —  just  permit  me 
simply  — 

With  that  he  seizes  me  around  the  neck  and  hugs  me. 
Ha  !  I  understand,  Antek  must  have  told  him  that  I  am 
going  to  marry ;  and  he  thinks  that  in  future  I  shall  pay 
my  rent  regularly.  Let  him  think  so. 

I  thunder  upstairs.  On  the  way  I  hear  a  noise  in  our 
quarters.  I  rush  in.  The  studio  is  dark  from  smoke. 
There  I  find  Yulek  Rysinski,  Wah  Poterkevich,  Franek 
Tsepkovski,  old  Sludetski,  Karminski,Voytek  Mihalak,  — 
all  amusing  themselves  by  driving  the  elegant  Bobus 
around  on  a  string;  but  seeing  me,  they  let  him  go, 
barely  alive,  in  the  middle  of  the  studio;  then  they 
raise  an  unearthly  uproar. 

"  We  congratulate !  congratulate !  congratulate ! " 

"  Up  with  him  ! " 

In  one  moment  I  am  in  their  arms,  and  for  a  certain 
time  they  hurl  me  up,  howling  meanwhile  in  a  way 
befitting  a  pack  of  wolves ;  at  last  I  find  myself  on  the 
floor.  I  thank  them  as  best  I  can,  and  declare  that  they 
must  all  be  at  my  wedding,  especially  Antek,  whom  I 
engage  in  advance  as  my  best  man. 

Antek  raises  his  hands  and  says,  — 

"  That  soap  thinks  that  we  are  congratulating  him  on 
his  marriage." 

"  But  on  what  are  you  congratulating  me  ? " 

"  How  is  that,  don't  you  know  ? "  asked  every  voice. 

"  I  know  nothing ;  what  the  hangman  do  you  want  ? " 

"  Give  him  the  morning  number  of  '  The  Kite,' "  cries 
Poterkevich. 


THAT  THIRD  WOMAN.  497 

They  give  me  the  morning  number  of  "The  Kite," 
shouting,  one  interrupting  the  other,  "  Look  among  the 
despatches ! " 

I  look  at  the  despatches,  and  read  the  following,  — 

"  Special  telegram  to  the '  The  Kite.'  Magorski's  picture, 
'  The  Jews  on  the  river  of  Babylon,'  received  the  great 
gold  medal  of  the  Salon  of  the  present  year.  The  critics 
cannot  find  words  to  describe  the  genius  of  the  master. 
Albert  Wolff  has  called  the  picture  a  revelation.  Baron 
Hirsch  offers  fifteen  thousand  francs  for  it." 

I  am  fainting  !  Help  !  I  have  lost  my  senses  to  that 
degree  that  I  cannot  utter  a  word.  I  knew  that  my  pic- 
ture was  a  success,  but  of  such  a  success  I  had  not  even 
dreamed.  The  number  of  "The  Kite"  falls  from  my 
hand.  They  raise  it  and  read  to  me  among  current 
comments  the  following  notes  on  the  despatch, — 

"Note  I.  We  learn  from  the  lips  of  the  master  himself 
that  he  intends  to  exhibit  his  picture  in  our  garden  of 
sirens. 

"  Note  II.  In  answer  to  a  question  put  by  the  vice-pres- 
ident of  the  Society  of  Fine  Arts  to  our  master,  whether 
he  intends  to  exhibit  his  masterpiece  in  Warsaw,  he  an- 
swered :  '  I  would  rather  not  sell  it  in  Paris  than  not 
exhibit  it  in  Warsaw.'  We  hope  that  those  words  will  be 
read  by  our  posterity  (God  grant  remote)  on  the  monument 
to  the  master. 

"  Note  III.  The  mother  of  our  master,  on  receiving  the 
despatch  from  Paris,  fell  seriously  ill  from  emotion. 

"  Note  IV.  We  learn  at  the  moment  of  going  to  press, 
that  the  mother  of  our  master  is  improving. 

"Note  V.  Our  master  has  received  invitations  to  ex- 
hibit his  picture  in  all  the  European  capitals." 

Under  the  excess  of  these  monstrous  lies,  I  return  to 
my  senses  a  little.  Ostrynski,  the  editor  of  "  The  Kite," 

32 


498  THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 

and  at  the  same  time  an  ex-suitor  of  Kazia's,  must  have 
gone  mad,  for  this  passes  every  measure.  It  is  natural 
that  I  should  exhibit  the  picture  in  Warsaw;  but,  I. 
I  have  not  mentioned  that  matter  to  any  one;  II.  the 
vice-president  of  the  Society  of  Fine  Arts  has  made  no 
inquiry  of  me  touching  anything ;  III.  I  have  given  him 
no  answer;  IV.  my  mother  died  nine  years  ago;  V.  I 
have  not  received  an  invitation  from  any  quarter  to 
exhibit  my  picture. 

Worse  than  all,  it  comes  to  my  mind  in  one  moment 
that  if  the  despatch  is  as  truthful  as  the  five  notes, 
then  farewell  to  everything.  Ostrynski,  who  half  a 
year  since,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  her  parents  were 
for  him,  received  a  basket 1  from  Kazia,  wished  perhaps 
purposely  to  make  a  fool  of  me ;  if  that  is  the  case  "  he 
will  pay  me  with  his  head,  or  something  else,"  as  says 
the  libretto  of  a  certain  opera.  My  colleagues  pacify  me, 
however,  by  saying  that  Ostrynski  might  fabricate  the 
notes,  but  the  despatch  must  be  genuine. 

At  the  same  time  Stah  Klosovich  comes  with  a  morn- 
ing number  of  "  The  Courier."  The  despatch  is  in  "  The 
Courier."  I  recover  breath. 

Now  congratulations  in  detail  begin.  Old  Sludetski, 
false  to  the  core,  but  in  manner  sweet  as  syrup,  shakes 
my  hand  and  says,  — 

"  Beloved  God !  I  have  always  believed  in  the  genius 
of  my  colleague,  and  I  have  always  defended  him  [I  know 
that  he  used  to  call  me  an  ass] ;  but  —  Beloved  God,  per- 
haps my  colleague  does  not  wish  that  such  &  fa-presto  as 
I  should  call  my  colleague,  colleague  ;  in  that  event  let  my 
colleague  forgive  an  old  habit,  Beloved  God ! " 

In  my  soul  I  wish  him  hanged ;  but  I  cannot  answer, 

1  Refusal. 


THAT  THIRD   WOMAN.  499 

for  at  that  moment  Karminski  draws  mo  aside  and  tells 
me  in  an  undertone,  but  so  that  all  hear  him,  — 

"  Maybe  my  colleague  needs  money,  if  he  does,  let  him 
say  the  word,  and  then  — 

Karminski  is  known  among  us  for  his  professed  will- 
ingness to  oblige.  Time  after  time  he  says  to  some  of 
us,  "  If  my  colleague  needs  aid,  let  him  say  the  word ; 
and  then  —  till  we  meet  again ! "  In  truth,  he  has 
money.  I  answer  that  if  I  do  not  find  it  elsewhere,  I 
will  apply  to  him.  Meanwhile  other  men  come,  true 
as  gold ;  and  they  squeeze  me  till  my  sides  ache.  At 
last  Antek  appears ;  I  see  that  he  is  moved,  but  he  con- 
ceals his  emotion,  and  says  roughly,  — 

"Though  thou  art  becoming  a  Jew,  as  I  see,  I 
congratulate  thee ! " 

"  Though  thou  art  becoming  a  fool,  as  I  see,  I  thank 
thee,"  and  we  embrace  with  all  our  strength.  Poter- 
kevich  mentions  that  it  is  dry  in  his  throat.  I  have  n't 
a  copper ;  but  Antek  has  two  rubles ;  others  have  as 
much.  A  contribution  follows,  and  punch.  They  drink 
my  health,  throw  me  up  again ;  and  because  I  tell  them 
that  the  affair  with  the  Suslovskis  is  settled,  they  drink 
Kazia's  health  also.  With  that  Antek  comes  to  me  and 
says,  — 

"  Dost  think,  youthful  idiot,  that  they  had  n't  read  the 
despatch  before  the  young  woman  wrote  to  thee  ? " 

Oh,  the  monkey  !  how  gladly  I  would  give  him  a  club 
on  the  head.  On  one  side  the  horizon  was  growing 
bright  for  me ;  on  the  other,  the  devil  was  darkening  it. 
Anything  might  be  expected  of  the  Suslovskis ;  but  that 
Kazik  l  should  be  capable  of  such  calculation  ! 

Still  it  was  very  likely  that  they  had  read  the  despatch 
at  the  waters  in  the  morning,  and  invited  me  straightway. 
1  A  form  of  endearment  for  Kazia. 


500  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

At  the  first  moment  I  want  to  fly  to  the  Suslovskis,  and 
stand  before  their  eyes.  But  I  cannot  leave  my  com- 
pany. Meanwhile  Ostrynski  comes,  elegant,  cold,  self- 
confident,  gloved  as  usual.  Shrewdness  is  shining  from 
him,  as  light  from  a  fire,  for  he  is  a  rogue  in  full  armor. 
From  the  threshold  he  begins  to  wave  his  cane  protect- 
ingly,  and  says,  - 

"  Congratulations  to  the  master ;  /  too  congratulate." 

He  uttered  that  "  1 "  with  an  emphasis,  as  if  congratu- 
lation from  him  meant  more  than  from  any  other  man. 
Perhaps  it  did  really. 

"  How  much  you  have  invented ! "  cried  I ;  "as  truly 
as  you  see  me  here,  I  learned  all  about  myself  in  '  The 
Kite.' " 

"  How  does  that  concern  me  ? "  asked  Ostrynski. 

"  I  said  nothing  about  exhibiting  the  picture  either." 

"  But  now  you  do,"  answered  he,  phlegmatically. 

"  And  he  has  no  mother,  so  his  mother  has  not  grown 
weak  ! "  cried  Voytek  Mihalak. 

"That  concerns  me  little,"  repeated  Ostrynski,  with 
dignity  taking  off  his  second  glove. 

"  But  is  the  despatch  true  ? " 

"  True." 

That  assurance  pacifies  me  thoroughly.  Through 
thankfulness  I  pour  out  punch  for  him.  He  puts  his  lips 
to  the  edge  of  the  glass,  drinks  a  sip,  and  says,  — 

"  First  to  your  health,  and  a  second  draught  I  drink 
you  know  to  whom.  I  congratulate  you  doubly." 

"  Where  do  you  get  your  information  ? " 

Ostrynski  shrugs  his  shoulders.  "  Suslovski  was  in  the 
editorial  rooms  before  eight  o'clock  this  morning." 

Antek  begins  to  mutter  something  about  mean  people 
in  general ;  I  can  restrain  myself  no  longer ;  I  seize  my 
hat.  Ostrynski  follows  me  out ;  but  I  leave  him  on  the 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  501 

street ;  and  a  couple  of  minutes  later  I  am  ringing  at  Sus- 
lovski's  for  the  second  time.  Kazia  opens  the  door;  her 
parents  are  not  at  home. 

"  Kazia  ! "  ask  I.  severely,  "  didst  thou  know  of  the 
despatch  ? " 

"  I  knew,"  answered  she,  calmly. 

"  But,  Kazik  ! " 

"  What  was  to  be  done,  my  dear  ?  Do  not  wonder  at 
my  parents ;  they  must  of  course  have  some  reasonable 
cause  to  accept  thee." 

"  But  thou,  Kazia  ? " 

"I  seized  the  first  opportunity;  dost  take  that  ill  of 
me,  Vladek  ? " 

The  question  grows  clear,  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
Kazia  is  perfectly  right.  Speaking  plainly,  why  did  I 
rush  hither  like  a  madman  ?  Kazia  comes  up  and  rests 
her  head  on  my  shoulder.  I  put  my  arm  around  her 
waist ;  she  drops  her  face  toward  my  arm,  closes  her  eyes, 
pushes  up  her  rosy  mouth  and  whispers,  — 

"  No,  no,  Vladek  !  not  now  —  only  after  marriage,  I 
implore  thee." 

In  view  of  that  request,  I  press  her  lips  to  mine,  and 
we  remain  in  that  way  as  long  as  the  process  of  breath- 
ing permits.  Kazia's  eyes  become  languishing.  At  last, 
she  screens  them  with  her  arm,  and  says,  — 

"  But  I  begged  thee  not  to  —  " 

The  reproach  and  the  look  melt  me  to  such  a  degree 
that  I  kiss  her  a  second  time.  When  you  love  some  one, 
you  have  naturally  a  greater  desire  to  give  a  kiss  than  a 
blow  to  that  person.  And  I  love  Kazia  beyond  measure 
and  wit,  during  life  till  death,  after  death  !  She,  or  none, 
and  that 's  the  end  of  it ! 

Kazia,  with  panting  voice,  expresses  the  fear  that  I 
have  lost  respect  for  her.  Dearest  creature,  what  non- 


502  THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 

sense  she  utters  !  I  pacify  her  as  best  I  can,  and  we 
begin  to  talk  reasonably. 

An  agreement  is  made  between  us  that  if  the  parents 
pretend  that  they  heard  of  the  despatch  only  after  my 
coming,  I  am  not  to  let  them  know  that  I  am  aware  how 
affairs  stand.  I  bid  farewell  then  to  Kazia,  promising  to 
come  in  the  evening. 

In  fact,  I  must  rush  to  the  office  of  the  Society  for  Pro- 
moting Fine  Arts ;  through  it  I  can  communicate  most 
easily  with  the  secretary  of  the  Salon. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I  SEND  a  despatch  stating  that  I  accept  Baron  Hirsch's 
price ;  but  stipulate,  first,  to  exhibit  the  picture  in 
Warsaw,  etc. 

For  the  sending  of  despatches  and  other  needs  I  bor- 
row money  in  the  institution.  It  is  given  without  hesita- 
tion. Everything  goes  as  if  on  oil. 

In  "  The  Kite  "  and  "  The  Courier  "  appears  my  biogra- 
phy, in  which,  however,  there  is  not  one  word  of  truth ; 
but  as  Ostrynski  says,  "  How  can  that  concern  me  ?  "  I 
have  received  also  a  request  from  two  illustrated  papers ; 
they  wish  to  publish  my  portrait  and  reproduce  my 
picture.  Let  them  do  so.  Money  will  be  as  abundant  as 
water. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A  WEEK  later  I  receive  the  earnest  money  from  Baron 
Hirsch.    The  remainder  will  be  paid  when  the  pur- 
chaser obtains  possession  of  the  canvas.     Meanwhile,  the 
Bank  of  Commerce  fires  onto  the  table  for  me  five  thou- 


THAT  THIRD  WOMAN.  503 

sand  francs  in  louis  d'or.     In  life  I    have  not  seen    so 
much  money.     I  come  home  laden  down  like  a  mule. 

There  is  an  assembly  in  the  studio.  I  throw  my  coin 
on  the  floor ;  and  since  I  have  never  wallowed  in  gold,  I 
begin  to  wallow  in  it.  After  me  Antek  wallows.  The 
house-owner  comes  in,  and  thinks  that  we  have  lost  our 
senses.  We  amuse  ourselves  like  cannibals. 


CHAPTEK  V. 

ONE  day  Ostrynski  informs  me  that  he  feels  happy 
that  he  got  a  basket  from  Kazia,  for  prospects  are 
opening  before  him  of  which  I  cannot  have  the  least  idea. 
I  am  very  glad  of  this,  or  rather,  it  is  all  one  to  me ; 
I  believe  meanwhile  that  Ostrynski  will  take  care  of  him- 
self in  this  life.  When  he  was  trying  for  Kazia,  her 
parents  were  on  his  side,  especially  Father  Suslovski; 
Ostrynski  had  even  a  complete  preponderance  over  him, 
pushed  to  the  degree  that  that  Eoman  lost  his  statuesque- 
ness  in  presence  of  this  suitor.  Kazia,  however,  could 
not  endure  him  from  the  first  moment  of  their  acquaint- 
ance. It  was  some  unconscious  repugnance  ;  as  to  other 
things  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  he  did  not  offend  her 
with  that  with  which  he  offends  me,  and  all  who  know 
his  nature  thoroughly.  He  is  a  wonderful  man,  or  rather 
a  wonderful  man  of  letters.  There  are,  of  course,  not 
only  among  us,  but  in  all  the  greater  centres  of  litera- 
ture and  art,  men  of  whom,  when  you  think,  you  ask  in- 
voluntarily, Whence  comes  their  importance?  To  this 
category  belongs  my  friend  of  "The  Kite."  Who  would 
believe  that  the  secret  of  Ostrynski's  significance  and  the 
reason  of  his  mental  position  is  this,  that  he  does  not  love 
and  does  not  respect  talents,  —  especially  literary  talents, 


504  THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 

—  and  that  he  simply  lives  by  disregarding  them  ?  He  has 
for  them  the  contempt  of  a  man  to  whom  regularity  of 
life,  a  certain  incisive  quickness  and  great  shrewdness 
secure  in  society  permanent  victories  over  them. 

One  should  see  him  at  sessions,  at  artistic  and  liter- 
ary meetings,  at  jubilee  dinners ;  with  what  condescend- 
ing irony  he  treats  men  who  in  the  region  of  creativeness 
have  ten  times  more  power  than  he ;  how  he  pushes 
them  to  the  wall ;  how  he  confuses  them  with  his  logic, 
with  his  judgment ;  how  he  overwhelms  them  with  his 
literary  importance ! 

Whenever  Antek  thinks  of  this,  he  calls  for  a  slat 
from  the  bedstead  with  which  to  crack  Ostrynski's  skull ; 
but  Ostrynski's  preponderance  does  not  astonish  me. 
People  of  genuine  talent  are  frequently  awkward,  timid, 
devoid  of  marked  quickness  and  mental  equilibrium.  It 
is  only  when  genuine  talent  is  alone  with  itself  that 
wings  grow  out  on  its  shoulders ;  Ostrynski  in  such  a 
position  could  only  go  to  sleep,  for  he  has  absolutely 
nothing  to  say  to  himself. 

The  future  brings  order,  gives  rank,  and  assigns  to  each 
man  his  own  proper  place.  Ostrynski  is  too  clever  not  to 
know  this ;  but  in  his  soul  he  laughs  at  it.  For  him,  't  is 
enough  that  at  present  he  has  greater  significance  than 
others,  and  that  people  count  more  with  him  than  with 
men  better  than  he. 

We  painters  stand  less  in  his  way.  Still  he  advertises 
the  talents  of  writers  at  times,  but  only  when  urged  by 
the  interest  of  "  The  Kite  "  and  in  opposition  to  "  The 
Courier."  For  the  rest,  he  is  a  good  comrade,  an  agree- 
able person.  I  can  say  that  I  like  the  man  ;  but  —  devil 
take  him  !  —  we  've  had  enough  of  Ostrynski 


THAT  THIRD  WOMAN.  505 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THEY  will  make  me  slam  the  door  some  day. 
What  a  comedy  !  Since  I  have  won  reputation  and 
money,  Suslovski,  in  spite  of  my  forethought,  treats  me 
simply  with  contempt ;  his  wife,  all    Kazia's   relatives, 
male  and  female,  meet  me  frigidly. 

On  the  first  evening  Suslovski  announces  that  if  I 
suppose  that  my  new  position  has  influenced  their  action, 
or  if  I  suppose  —  which  for  that  matter  is  evident  in  me 
—  that  I  am  doing  them  a  favor,  I  am  mistaken.  Though 
ready  to  sacrifice  much  for  the  happiness  of  their  child, 
still  even  that  only  child  cannot  ask  them  to  sacrifice 
their  human  dignity.  The  mother  adds,  that,  in  case  of 
need,  the  child  will  know  where  to  seek  refuge.  The 
honest  Kazia  defends  me  at  moments  very  angrily ;  but 
they  are  in  wait  for  every  word  of  mine. 

Barely  do  I  open  my  mouth  when  Suslovski  bites  his 
lips,  looks  at  his  wife  and  nods,  as  if  to  say,  "  I  knew 
that  it  would  come  to  this."  Such  a  saw  have  they  fixed 
for  me  from  morning  till  evening. 

And  to  think  that  all  this  is  hypocrisy,  that  its  special 
service  is  to  keep  me  in  their  net,  that  at  the  bottom  of 
the  question  they  are  after  my  fifteen  thousand  francs, 
and  that  they  are  as  anxious  for  them  as  I  am,  though 
our  motives  are  different. 

It  is  time  to  finish. 

They  have  brought  me  to  this  that  I  seem  to  myself  to 
have  committed  really  some  scoundrelism  in  getting  the 
gold  medal  and  the  fifteen  thousand  francs  for  my  picture, 


506  THAT  THIRD   WOMAN. 


CHAPTEE   VII. 

THE  day  of  my  betrothal  is  drawing  near.  I  buy  a 
beautiful  ring  in  the  style  of  Louis  XV.  which  does 
not  please  the  Suslovskis,  nor  even  Kazia,  for  in  that 
whole  house  there  is  no  one  who  has  an  idea  of  real  art. 

I  must  work  much  yet  over  Kazia  to  destroy  in  her 
vulgar  preferences  and  teach  her  to  feel  artistically ;  but 
since  she  loves  me,  I  am  hopeful. 

I  invited  no  one  to  the  betrothal  except  Antek.  I 
wanted  him  to  visit  the  Suslovskis  as  a  preliminary ;  but 
he  declared,  that  though  physically  and  morally  bank- 
rupt, he  has  not  become  so  degraded  yet  as  to  go 
visiting.  It  cannot  be  helped  !  I  forewarn  the  Suslovskis 
that  my  friend  is  an  original  beyond  compare,  but  a 
painter  of  genius  and  the  most  honest  man  in  the  world. 

Suslovski,  learning  that  my  friend  paints  "corpses," 
raises  his  brows,  declaring  that  hitherto  he  has  had  to  do 
with  decent  people,  that  his  whole  official  career  is  un- 
spotted, and  that  he  hopes  my  friend  will  respect  the 
manners  prevailing  in  an  honorable  and  decorous  house. 

I  confess  to  myself  that  I  am  not  free  from  fears 
touching  Antek,  and  from  the  morning  hours  I  am  at 
war  with  him.  He  insists  on  wearing  leggings.  I  per- 
suade, I  implore,  I  entreat. 

At  last  he  gives  way,  declaring  that  he  sees  no  reason 
decisively  why  he  should  not  remain  a  fool.  It  is  a  pity 
that  his  shoes  remind  one  of  explorers  in  Central  Africa ; 
for  no  blacking  has  touched  them  since  they  were  brought 
from  the  shoemaker's  on  credit ! 

Still  worse,  Antek's  head  looks  like  the  summit  of  the 
Carpathian  Mountains,  covered  with  forests,  torn  by 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  507 

columns  of  wind.  I  must  put  up  with  this,  for  there  is  no 
comb  on  earth  which  could  conquer  that  forelock; 
but  I  force  him  to  put  on  a  frock  coat,  instead  of  the 
blouse  which  he  wears  every  day.  He  does  this,  but  has 
the  look  of  one  of  his  corpses,  and  falls  into  sepulchral 
humor. 

On  the  street  people  turn  to  look  at  his  knotty  stick 
and  his  immense  tattered  hat;  but  I  am  accustomed  to 
this. 

We  ring ;  we  enter. 

In  the  antechamber,  the  voice  of  Cousin  Yachkovich 
reaches  me  ;  he  is  discoursing  on  overpopulation.  Cousin 
Yachkovich  is  always  discoursing  on  overpopulation  ;  that 
is  his  hobby.  Kazia  looks  in  her  muslin  like  a  cloud,  and 
pretty.  Suslovski  is  in  a  dress-coat ;  the  relatives  are  in 
dress-coats ;  the  old  aunts  are  in  silk  gowns. 

Antek's  entrance  makes  an  impression.  They  look  at 
him  with  a  certain  disquiet.  He  looks  around  gloomily, 
and  informs  Suslovski  that  in  truth  he  would  not  have 
come  "  unless  Vladek  were  getting  married,  or  something 
of  that  sort." 

This  "  something  of  that  sort "  is  received  most  fatally. 
Suslovski  straightens  himself  with  dignity,  and  inquires 
what  is  meant  by  "  something  of  that  sort."  Antek 
answers  that  it  is  all  one  to  him ;  but  "  for  Vladek  "  he 
might  even  knock  his  heels  off,  especially  if  he  knew 
that  Pan  Suslovski  cared  anything  about  the  matter. 
My  future  father-in-law  looks  at  his  wife,  at  me,  at 
Kazia,  with  a  look  in  which  amazement  is  struggling  with 
mortification. 

Happily  I  save  the  position,  and,  with  presence  of  mind 
rare  with  me,  beg  my  future  father-in-law  to  present  me 
to  those  members  of  his  family  with  whom  I  am  still 
unacquainted. 


508  THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 

The  presentation  follows  ;  then  we  sit  down.  Kazia 
sits  near  me,  and  lets  her  hand  stay  in  mine.  The  room 
is  full  of  people  ;  but  all  are  stiff  and  silent.  The  atmos- 
phere is  heavy. 

Cousin  Yachkovich  begins  again  at  his  talk  on  over- 
population. My  Antek  looks  under  the  table.  In  the 
silence  the  voice  of  Yachkovich  is  heard  with  increasing 
shrillness;  not  having  a  front  tooth,  whenever  he  has  to 
pronounce  sz,  he  utters  a  prolonged  hiss. 

"  The  most  dreadful  catastrophe  may  arise  from  this  for 
all  Europe,"  said  Yachkovich. 

"  Emigration,"  put  in  some  one  from  aside. 

"  Statistics  show,  that  emigration  will  not  prevent  over- 
population." 

Suddenly  Antek  raises  his  head  and  turns  his  fishy 
eyes  toward  the  speaker .  "  Then  Chinese  customs  should 
be  introduced  among  us,"  says  he,  with  a  gloomy  bass. 

"With  permission,  —  what  Chinese  customs  ?" 

"  In  China  parents  have  the  right  to  smother  imbecile 
children.  Well,  then,  with  us,  children  should  have  the 
right  to  kill  imbecile  parents." 

It  has  come  !  The  bolt  has  struck ;  the  sofa  groans 
under  the  aunts ;  and  I  am  lost.  Suslovski  closes  his 
eyes,  and  loses  speech  for  a  season. 

Silence. 

Then  is  heard  the  voice  of  my  coming  father-in-law, 
trembling  with  terror,  — 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  hope,  that  as  a.  Christian  —  " 

"  Why  must  I  be  a  Christian  ? "  interrupts  Antek, 
shaking  his  head  ominously. 

Another  thunderbolt ! 

The  sofa  with  the  aunts  begins  to  tremble  as  if  in  a 
fever ;  it  vanishes  from  my  sight ;  I  feel  the  earth  opening 
beneath  me.  All  is  lost ;  all  hope  is  vain. 


THAT  THIRD   WOMAN.  509 

Suddenly  Kazia's  laughter  rings  out,  resonant  as  a  bell ; 
then  Yachkovich  bursts  into  laughter,  not  knowing  why; 
after  Yachkovich,  I  laugh,  also  not  knowing  why. 

"  Father  !  "  cries  Kazia,  "  Vladek  forewarned  father,  that 
Pan  Svyatetski  [Antek]  is  an  original.  Pan  Svyatetski  is 
joking ;  he  has  a  mother,  I  know  that,  and  he  is  the  best 
of  sons  to  her." 

A  rogue,  not  a  maiden,  that  Kazia  !  — not  only  does  she 
invent,  but  she  divines.  In  fact,  Antek  has  a  mother,  and 
he  is  a  good  son  to  her. 

Kazia's  words  make  a  certain  diversion.  The  entrance 
of  a  servant  with  wine  and  cake  makes  a  still  greater 
diversion.  That  servant  is  the  watchman  who  took  my 
last  three  rubles ;  but  now  he  is  arrayed  in  a  dress-coat, 
and  comes  out  with  the  dignity  of  a  waiting-man.  He 
keeps  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  tray  ;  the  glasses  rattle,  and  he 
moves  forward  as  slowly  as  if  he  were  carrying  glasses 
filled  with  water.  I  begin  to  fear  that  he  will  drop  them 
all  to  the  floor  ;  fortunately  my  fear  proves  barren. 

After  a  while  the  glasses  are  filled.  We  proceed  to  the 
act  of  betrothal. 

A  little  cousin  holds  a  porcelain  plate  on  which  two 
rings  are  lying.  The  eyes  are  creeping  out  of  her  head 
with  curiosity,  and  the  whole  ceremony  causes  her  such 
evident  pleasure  that  she  is  dancing  together  with  the 
plate  and  rings.  Suslovski  rises  ;  all  rise  ;  the  noise  of  the 
chairs  is  heard  as  they  are  pushed  back. 

Silence  follows.  I  hear  one  of  the  matrons  remark  in 
a  whisper,  how  she  had  hoped  that  my  ring  "  would  be 
better."  In  spite  of  this  remark  there  is  such  solemnity 
of  feeling  that  flies  are  dropping  from  the  wall. 

Suslovski  begins  to  speak,  — 

"  My  children,  receive  the  blessing  of  your  parents." 

Kazia  kneels ;  I  kneel  as  well. 


510  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

What  a  physiognomy  Antek  must  have  at  this  moment, 
what  a  face  !  I  dare  not  look  at  him ;  I  look  at  Kazia's 
muslin  robe,  which,  on  the  faded  red  sofa,  makes  a  very 
nice  spot.  The  hands  of  Suslovski  and  of  Pani  Suslovski 
rest  on  our  heads ;  then  my  future  father-in-law  says,  — 

"  My  daughter,  thou  hast  had  the  best  example  at 
home  of  what  a  wife  should  be  to  a  husband,  therefore  I 
need  not  teach  thee  thy  duties,  which  moreover  thy  hus- 
band will  indicate  to  thee."  (I  hope  so.)  "  But  I  turn 
to  thee,  Pan  Vladislav  — 

Here  begins  a  speech  during  which  I  count  to  one 
hundred,  and  having  counted  to  a  hundred,  I  begin  again 
at  one.  Suslovski  the  citizen,  Suslovski  the  official, 
Suslovski  the  father,  Suslovski  the  Roman,  had  the  op- 
portunity of  showing  all  his  grandeur  of  soul.  The  words  : 
child,  parents,  duties,  future,  blessing,  thorns,  pure  con- 
science, buzz  around  my  ears  like  a  swarm  of  wasps,  sit 
on  my  head,  sting  me  on  the  above-mentioned  ears  as 
well  as  on  my  neck  and  forehead. 

It  must  be  that  I  tied  my  cravat  too  tightly,  for  it  is 
suffocating  me.  I  hear  the  weeping  of  Pani  Suslovski, 
which  affects  me,  for  at  heart  she  is  an  honest  woman ; 
I  hear  the  sound  of  the  rings,  held  on  the  plate  by  the 
dancing  little  cousin.  0  Lord  Christ,  what  a  face  that 
Antek  must  have  ! 

At  last  we  rise.  The  little  cousin  thrusts  the  plate 
under  my  very  eyes.  Kazia  and  I  exchange  rings. 

Uf !  I  am  betrothed  !  I  suppose  this  to  be  the  end ; 
but  no,  Suslovski  calls  us  to  go  and  beg  a  blessing  of  all 
the  aunts. 

We  go.  I  kiss  five  hands  which  are  like  the  feet  of 
storks.  All  the  aunts  hope  that  I  will  not  deceive  their 
confidence. 

What   the   devil   confidence   can   they  have   in    me? 


THAT  THIRD   WOMAN.  511 

Cousin  Yachkovich  seizes  me  in  his  embraces.  Abso- 
lutely I  must  have  tied  my  cravat  too  tightly. 

But  the  worst  is  over.  Tea  is  brought  in.  I  sit  near 
Kazia,  and  it  seems  to  me  all  the  time  that  I  do  not  see 
Antek.  The  monkey,  he  frightens  me  once  more  ;  when 
the  question  whether  he  will  have  rum  in  his  tea  is 
asked,  he  answers  that  he  drinks  rum  only  by  the  bottle. 
At  last  the  evening  is  ended  successfully. 

We  go  out.  I  draw  in  the  air  with  full  breast.  In- 
deed, my  cravat  was  too  tight. 

Antek  and  I  walk  on  in  silence.  The  silence  begins  to 
weigh  on  me  and  soon  becomes  unendurable.  I  feel  that 
I  must  talk  to  Antek,  tell  him  something  of  my  happi- 
ness, how  handsomely  all  has  passed,  how  I  love  Kazia  — 
I  prepare,  but  it  is  of  no  use  !  At  last  when  just  near 
the  studio  I  say,  — 

"  Own  up,  Antek,  that  life  is  still  beautiful." 

Antek  halts,  casts  a  frowning  glance  at  me,  and  says,  — 

"  Poodle ! " 

That  night  we  conversed  no  more  with  each  other. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  WEEK  after  the  evening  of  betrothal  my  "  Jews  " 
arrive  for  exhibition.     The  picture  is  placed  in  a 
separate  hall,  and  a  special  fee  is  charged  for  admission. 
One  half  of  the  net  proceeds  is  for  me.     At  the  exhibi- 
tion there  is  probably  a  throng  from  morning  till  evening. 
I  see  it  only  once ;  but  as  people  look  at  me  more  than 
at  the  picture,  I  shall  not  go  again,  for  why  should  I  be 
angry  for  nothing.     If  my  picture  were  a  masterpiece, 
such  as  has  never  been  seen  in  the  world  till  this  day, 
people  would  rather  satisfy  that  curiosity  in  virtue  of 


512  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

which  they  go  to  see  "  Krao  "  or  the  Hottentot  who  eats 
live  pigeons. 

Such  a  Hottentot  am  I  at  this  moment.  I  should  be 
satisfied  were  I  really  a  poodle ;  but  I  am  too  much  of  a 
painter  not  to  be  enraged  by  such  degradation  of  art  be- 
fore a  fashionable  peculiarity. 


CHAPTEK   IX. 

r  I  "HREE  weeks  ago  few  persons  knew  of  my  existence, 
-L  but  now  I  begin  to  receive  tens  of  letters,  for  the 
greater  part  love-letters.  I  may  wager  that  of  five  four 
begin  with  these  words  :  "  It  may  be  that  when  you  have 
read  this  letter,  you  will  despise  the  woman  who,  etc.  —  " 
I  will  not  despise  the  woman,  on  condition  that  she  will 
keep  away  from  me. 

Were  it  not  for  Kazia,  perhaps,  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
should  n't  shrug  my  shoulders  so  much  at  such  a  torrent 
of  feeling. 

How  can  such  an  "  unknown  "  hope  that  a  man  who 
has  never  seen  her  will  answer  the  invitation  of  an  in- 
visible woman  ?  This  makes  me  specially  indignant. 
Remove  first  the  curtain,  O  fair  unknown !  and  when  I 
behold  thee,  I  will  say  to  thee  —  Oi !  I  will  say  nothing, 
because  of  Kazia. 

I  receive  also  an  anonymous  missive,  from  some  gray- 
haired  friendm,  in  which  I  am  called  master,  and  Kazia 
a  little  goose. 

"  Oh,  master,  is  she  a  wife  for  thee  ?"  inquires  my  gray- 
haired  friend^s.  "  Is  that  a  choice  worthy  of  him  on 
whom  the  eyes  of  the  whole  country  are  turned  ?  Thou 
art  a  victim  of  intrigue,  etc." 


THAT  THIRD   WOMAN.  513 

A  wonderful  supposition,  and  a  still  more  wonderful 
demand,  that  I  should  marry  not  to  please  my  heart  but 
the  public !  And  poor  Kazia  is  already  in  their  way  ! 

There  are  greater  crimes  surely  than  anonymous  letters, 
but  there  is  no  greater  —  how  can  I  express  myself  justly  ? 
But  never  mind ! 

The  end  of  my  betrothal  is  not  fixed  yet,  but  it  will 
come  before  long.  Meanwhile  I  shall  tell  Kazia  to  array 
herself  famously,  and  I  will  escort  her  to  the  exhibition. 
Let  the  world  see  us  together. 

Antek's  two  corpses  have  come  also  from  Paris.  The 
picture  is  called  "  The  Last  Meeting,"  and  represents  a 
young  man  and  a  young  woman  lying  on  the  dissecting- 
table.  At  the  first  glance  the  idea  is  interpreted  per- 
fectly. It  is  clear  that  those  two  dead  ones  loved  each 
other  in  life,  that  misery  separated  and  death  united 
them. 

The  students  bending  over  the  corpses  have  come  out 
in  the  picture  somewhat  rigid ;  there  are  faults  in  the 
perspective  of  the  dissecting-room  ;  but  the  "  corpses  "  are 
painted  superbly.  Such  corpses  that  icy  cold  comes  from 
them  !  The  picture  did  not  receive  even  mention,  perhaps 
for  the  reason  that  the  subject  is  wonderfully  unpleasant ; 
but  critics  praised  it. 

Among  our  "  painters  "  there  are  beyond  doubt  many 
talents.  For  instance,  at  the  side  of  Antek's  corpses 
Franek  Tsepkovski  exhibited  "  The  Death  of  Koretski." 
Immense  strength  in  it,  and  immense  individuality. 

Antek  calls  Franek  an  idiot :  first,  because  Franek  has 
a  forelock,  and  wears  his  beard  wedge -form;  second,  be- 
cause he  dresses  according  to  the  latest  fashion ;  and, 
third,  because  he  is  terribly  well-bred  and  ceremonious, 
and  mentions  rather  frequently  his  high-born  relatives. 
But  Antek  is  mistaken.  Talent  is  a  bird  that  builds  its 

33 


514  THAT  THIRD   WOMAN. 

nest  where  it  pleases,  at  one  time  in  a  wild  desert,  at 
another  in  a  trimmed  garden. 

I  have  seen,  in  Monachium  and  Paris,  painters  who 
looked  like  laborers  in  a  brewery,  then  others  like  bar- 
bers or  dandies,  you  would  not  give  three  coppers  for 
the  men ;  still  one  and  the  other  beast  of  them  had  in 
his  soul  such  exaltation,  such  uncommon  feeling  of 
forms  and  colors,  and  such  a  power  of  projecting  that 
feeling  out  of  himself  onto  canvas  !  Ostrynski,  who  has 
a  trite  phrase  for  everything,  would  have  written  in 
mentioning  them  in  his  "Kite,"  spiritus  flat  ubi  vult  (the 
spirit  bloweth  where  it  listeth). 

In  Antek's  opinion,  historical  painting  is  "  obscure 
barbarism."  I  do  not  paint  historical  subjects,  and  per- 
sonally the  question  is  all  one  to  me,  but  I  hear  this 
opinion  on  every  side  as  being  progressive.  People  have 
made  a  saw  of  it,  and  it  begins  to  annoy  me. 

Our  Polish  painters  have  one  defect :  they  become 
wedded  to  certain  doctrines  touching  art,  live  under 
their  slippers,  look  at  everything  with  the  eyes  of  these 
doctrines,  force  art  to  them,  and  are  rather  apostles  than 
painters.  In  contrnst  to  painters  mentioned  above  (in 
connection  with  Monachium  and  Paris),  I  have  known 
others  whose  lips  were  worn  off  in  talking  of  what  art 
is,  and  what  it  should  be ;  but  when  it  came  to  the  brush 
they  could  not  do  anything. 

More  than  once  I  have  thought  that  a  theory  of  art 
should  be  framed  by  philosophers,  and  if  they  framed 
nonsense  —  let  them  answer;  but  painters  should  paint 
what  the  heart  dictates  to  each  man,  and  to  know  how 
to  paint  is  the  main  thing.  To  my  thinking,  the  most 
wretched  talent  is  worth  more  than  the  most  splendid 
doctrine,  and  the  most  splendid  doctrine  is  not  worthy 
to  clean  the  boots  of  freedom. 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  515 


CHAPTEE  X. 

I  WAS  with  Kazia  and  the  Suslovskis  at  the  exhi- 
bition. 

There  are  crowds  before  my  picture  at  all  times. 
They  began  to  whisper  the  moment  we  entered ;  and  this 
time  they  looked  mostly,  not  at  the  picture,  and  not  at 
me,  but  at  Kazia.  The  women  especially  did  not  take 
their  eyes  from  her.  I  saw  that  she  was  pleased  with 
this  fabulously ;  but  I  did  not  take  it  ill  of  her.  I  take 
it  worse  that  she  said  of  Antek's  corpses,  "  that  is  not  a 
decent  picture."  Suslovski  declared  that  she  had  taken 
the  words  out  of  his  mouth ;  but  I  was  raging.  To  think 
that  Kazia  too  should  have  such  a  view  of  art ! 

From  anger  I  took  farewell  of  them  at  once,  on  pre- 
tence that  I  must  see  Ostrynski.  I  went  to  his  office,  it 
is  true,  but  to  induce  him  to  dine  with  me. 


CHAPTER  XL 

I    SAW  a  miracle,  and  that's  the  end  of  it. 
Now  for  the   first  time  I  understand  why  a  man 
has  eyes. 

Corpo  di  Bacco  ;  what  beauty ! 

I  am  walking  with  Ostrynski ;  I  see  on  a  sudden  at 
the  corner  of  Willow  Street  some  woman  passing 
quickly.  I  stand  as  if  fixed  to  the  earth  ;  I  become  oak ; 
I  become  stone  ;  I  stare  ;  I  lose  consciousness  ;  without 
knowing  it  I  seize  Ostrynski  by  the  cravat ;  I  loosen  his 
cravat  —  and  —  save  me,  or  I  die  ! 

What  that  she  has  perfect  features  ?  It  is  not  the 
features,  she  is  simply  an  artist's  ideal,  a  masterpiece  as 


516  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

outline,  a  masterpiece  as  coloring,  a  masterpiece  as  senti- 
ment. Greuze  would  have  risen  from  the  dead  in  her 
presence,  and  hanged  himself  then  for  having  painted  so 
much  ugliness. 

I  gaze  and  gaze.  She  is  walking  alone,  —  how  alone  ? 
Poetry  is  walking  with  her ;  music,  spring,  splendor,  and 
love  are  walking  with  her.  I  know  not  whether  I  should 
prefer  to  paint  her  immediately;  I  should  rather  kneel 
before  her  and  kiss  her  feet,  because  such  a  woman  was 
born.  Finally,  do  I  know  what  I  would  do  ? 

She  passes  us  as  serenely  as  a  summer  day.  Ostrynski 
bows  to  her ;  but  she  does  not  see  him.  I  wake  from 
my  amazement  and  cry,  — 

'•  Let  us  follow  her  ! " 

"  No,"  answers  Ostrynski ;  "  have  you  gone  mad  ?  I 
must  tie  my  cravat.  Give  me  peace !  that  is  an  acquaint- 
ance of  mine." 

"An  acquaintance  of  yours?     Present  me." 

"  I  do  not  think  of  it ;  look  to  your  own  betrothed." 

I  hurl  a  curse  at  Ostrynski  and  his  posterity  to  the 
ninth  generation ;  then  I  wish  to  fly  after  the  unknown. 
To  my  misfortune,  she  has  entered  an  open  carriage. 
Only  from  a  distance  do  I  see  her  straw  hat  and  red 
parasol. 

"  Do  you  know  her  really  ? "  ask  I  of  Ostrynski. 

"I  know  all  people." 

"  Who  is  she  ? " 

"Pani  Helena  Kolchanovski  of  the  house  of  Turno, 
otherwise  Panna  Vdova  [Miss  Widow],  so  called." 

"  Why  Miss  Widow  ? " 

"Because  her  husband  died  at  their  wedding  supper. 
If  you  have  recovered,  I  will  tell  you  her  history.  There 
was  a  rich,  childless  bachelor,  Kolchanovski  de  Kolcha- 
novo,  a  noble  of  the  Ukraine.  He  had  immensely  hon- 


THAT  THIRD  WOMAN.  517 

orable  relatives  who  hoped  to  be  his  heirs,  and  an  im- 
measurably short  neck,  which  gave  the  greater  hopes  to 
the  heirs.  I  knew  those  heirs.  They  were  in  truth  per- 
fectly honorable  people ;  but  what 's  to  be  done  ?  The 
most  honorable  and  the  least  interested  of  them  could 
not  refrain  from  looking  at  Kolchanovski's  neck.  This 
annoyed  the  old  man  so  intensely  that  out  of  spite  to 
the  family  he  paid  court  to  a  neighbor's  daughter,  drew 
up  a  document,  conveyed  to  her  all  his  property,  then 
married  her;  after  the  ceremony  there  was  dancing; 
at  the  end  of  the  dancing  a  supper;  at  the  end  of  the 
supper  apoplexy  killed  him  on  the  spot.  In  that  way 
Madame  Helena  Kolchanovski  became  Miss  Widow." 

"Was  that  long  ago?" 

"Three  years.  At  that  time  she  was  twenty-two 
years  of  age.  Since  then  she  might  have  married 
twenty-two  times ;  but  she  does  n't  want  to  marry.  Peo- 
ple supposed  that  she  was  waiting  for  a  prince.  It  turned 
out  that  that  was  not  true ;  for  she  fired  a  prince  out 
a  little  while  ago.  Besides  I  know  well  that  she  has  no 
pretensions ;  the  best  proof  of  which  is  that  Pani  Kol- 
chanovski lives  to  this  time  in  close  friendship  with  our 
well-known,  sympathetic,  gifted,  etc.,  Eva  Adami,  who 
was  a  friend  of  hers  in  the  boarding-school." 

Hearing  this,  I  just  jumped  from  joy.  If  that  is 
true,  no  more  of  Ostrynski.  My  beloved,  honest  Evusia 1 
will  smooth  the  way  for  my  acquaintance  with  Pani 
Helena. 

"  Well,  then  you  won't  take  me  to  her  ? "  asked  I  of 
Ostrynski. 

"  Decidedly  not ;  if  any  man  wishes  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  any  one  in  the  city,  why,  he  will  make  it," 
answered  Ostrynski ;  "  but  because  you  put  me  out  with 

1  A  form  of  endearment  for  Eva. 


518  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

Kazia,  I  do  not  wish  people  to  say  in  the  present  case 
that  I  caused  —      Do  I  know  ?     Be  in  good  health  !" l 


CHAPTER  XII. 

I  WAS  to  dine  with  the  Suslovskis,  but  I  wrote  them 
that  I  could  n't  come. 

My  teeth  have  never  ached,  it  is  true,  but  then  they 
might  ache. 

Helena  did  not  go  from  my  eyes  all  day  ;  for  what  sort 
of  a  painter  would  he  be,  who  would  not  think  of  such 
a  face  ?  I  painted  in  my  soul  ten  portraits  of  her.  To 
my  mind  came  the  idea  of  a  picture,  in  which  such  a 
face  as  Helena's  would  make  a  splendid  impression.  It 
was  only  necessary  to  see  her  a  couple  of  times  more.  I 
flew  to  Eva  Adami's,  but  did  not  find  her.  In  the  even- 
ing I  receive  a  card  from  Kazia  with  an  invitation  for 
the  morning  to  waters  in  the  garden,  and  then  to  coffee. 
Those  waters  and  that  coffee  are  a  regular  saw! 

I  cannot  go ;  for  if  I  do  not  find  Eva  at  home  in  the 
morning,  I  shall  not  catch  her  all  day. 

Eva  Adami  (that  is  her  stage  appellation ;  her  real 
name  is  Anna  Yedlinski)  is  an  exceptional  maiden.  I 
have  enjoyed  her  friendship  this  long  time,  and  we  say 
"thou"  to  each  other.  This  is  her  ninth  year  on  the 
stage,  and  she  has  remained  pure  in  the  full  sense  of  the 
word.  In  theatres,  there  are,  it  is  true,  plenty  of  women 
who  are  innocent  physically ;  but  if  their  corsets  could 
betray  all  the  desires  of  those  women,  I  suppose  that 
the  most  shameless  baboon,  on  hearing  the  story,  might 
blush  at  all  points  not  covered  with  hair.  The  theatre 
spoils  souls,  especially  female  souls. 

1  This  means  farewell. 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  519 

It  is  difficult  even  to  ask  that  in  a  woman,  who  every 
evening  feigns  love,  fidelity,  nobleness,  and  similar  quali- 
ties, there  should  not  be  developed  at  last  an  instinctive 
feeling  that  all  these  virtues  belong  to  the  drama,  but 
have  no  connection  with  life.  The  immense  difference 
between  art  and  reality  confirms  her  in  this  feeling; 
rivalry  and  envy  roused  by  applause  poison  the  heart's 
noblest  impulses. 

Continual  contact  with  people  so  spoiled  as  actors 
excites  lower  instincts.  There  is  not  a  white  Angora  cat 
which  would  not  be  soiled  in  such  an  environment. 
This  environment  can  be  conquered  only  by  great  genius, 
which  purifies  itself  in  the  fire  of  art;  or  a  nature  so 
thoroughly  aesthetic  that  evil  does  not  pass  through  it, 
as  water  does  not  pass  through  the  feathers  of  a  swan. 
Of  such  impermeable  natures  is  Eva  Adami. 

At  night,  at  tea,  and  the  pipe  more  than  once,  I  have 
talked  with  my  colleagues  about  people  belonging  to  the 
world  of  art,  beginning  with  the  highest,  that  is,  poets, 
and  ending  with  the  lowest,  that  is,  actors. 

A  being  who  has  imagination  developed  beyond  ordi- 
nary mortals,  a  being  impressionable  beyond  others,  sen- 
suous, passionate,  a  being  who,  in  the  domain  of  happiness 
and  delight,  knows  everything,  and  desires  with  unheard 
of  intensity,  —  that  is  an  artist.  He  should  have  three 
times  the  character  and  will-power  of  others  to  conquer 
temptation. 

Meanwhile,  as  there  is  no  reason  why  a  flower,  beauti- 
ful beyond  others,  should  have  greater  strength  to  resist 
wind,  there  is  no  reason  why  an  artist  should  have 
more  character  than  an  ordinary  person.  On  the  con- 
trary, there  is  reason  why,  as  a  rule,  he  has  less,  for  his 
vital  energy  is  wasted  in  that  gulf  which  divides  the 
world  of  art  from  the  world  of  e very-day  reality. 


520  THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 

He  is  simply  a  sick  bird,  in  a  continual  fever,  —  a  bird 
which  at  times  vanishes  from  the  eye  beneath  the  clouds, 
and  at  times  drags  its  wearied  wings  in  the  dust  and  the 
mire.  Art  gives  him  a  disgust  for  dust  and  mire;  but 
life  takes  strength  of  flight  from  him.  Hence  that  dis- 
cord which  is  so  frequent  between  the  external  and  the 
internal  life  of  artists. 

The  world,  when  it  asks  more  from  artists  than  from 
others,  and  when  it  condemns  them,  is  right  perhaps ;  but 
Christ,  too,  will  be  right  when  He  saves  them. 

Ostrynski  maintains,  it  is  true,  that  actors  belong  to 
the  artistic  world  as  much  as  clarionets  and  French 
horns  belong  to  it. 

But  that  is  not  true ;  the  best  proof  is  Eva  Adami,who 
is  a  thorough  artist,  both  by  gifts  and  that  feeling  which 
has  preserved  her  from  evil  as  a  mother  would.  In  spite 
of  all  the  friendship  which  I  have  for  Eva,  I  had  not 
seen  her  for  a  long  time ;  when  she  saw  me  then,  she 
was  very  glad,  though  she  had  a  certain  astonished  look, 
which  I  could  not  explain. 

"  How  art  thou,  Vladzio  ? " 1  asked  she.  "  For  a  wonder 
I  see  thee." 

I  was  delighted  to  find  her.  She  wore  a  Turkish 
morning  gown  with  split  sleeves ;  it  had  red  palm-leaves 
on  a  cream-colored  ground,  and  was  bordered  with  wide 
embroidery  in  old  gold.  The  rich  embroidery  was  re- 
flected with  special  beauty  in  her  pale  face  and  violet 
eyes.  I  told  her  so,  and  she  was  greatly  pleased.  I 
came  to  the  point  then  at  once. 

"My  golden  diva!  thou  knowest  Pani  Kolchanovski, 
that  wonderful  lady  of  the  Ukraine  ? " 

"  I  do  ;  she  was  my  schoolmate." 

"  Take  me  to  her." 

1  A  form  of  endearment  for  Vladek  or  Vladislav. 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  521 

Eva  shook  her  head. 

"My  golden,  my  good  one,  as  thou  lovest  rne !" 

"  No,  Vladek,  I  will  not  take  thee  ! " 

"  See  how  bad  thou  art ;  but  at  one  time  I  was  almost 
in  love  with  thee." 

What  a  mimosa  that  Eva  is !  When  she  hears  this, 
she  changes,  puts  her  elbow  on  the  table  (a  miracle,  not 
an  elbow),  puts  her  pale  face  on  her  palm  and  asks, — 

"  When  was  that  ?  " 

I  was  in  a  hurry  to  speak  of  Helena  ;  but  since  on  a 
time  I  had  in  truth  almost  fallen  in  love  with  Eva,  and 
since  I  wish  now  to  bring  her  into  good  humor,  I  begin 
the  narrative,  — 

"  We  were  going  once,  after  the  theatre,  to  the  botani- 
cal garden.  Dost  thou  remember  what  a  wonderful 
night  that  was  ?  We  were  sitting  on  a  bench  near  the 
fountain  ;  thou  hadst  just  said,  '  I  should  like  to  hear 
a  nightingale.'  I  was  sad  for  some  reason,  and  took  off 
my  cap,  for  my  head  was  aching ;  and  thou,  going  to  the 
fountain,  moistened  a  handkerchief,  and  put  it  on  my 
forehead  with  thy  hand.  Thou  didst  seem  simply  as 
good  as  an  angel,  and  I  thought  to  myself :  If  I  take  that 
hand  and  put  my  lips  to  it,  all  will  be  over !  I  shall  be 
in  love  to  the  death." 

"  And  then  what  ?  "  asks  Eva,  in  an  undertone. 

"  Thou  didst  step  aside  quickly,  as  if  divining 
something." 

Eva  sat  a  while  in  thought,  then  woke  from  it  and 
said  with  nervous  haste,  "Let  us  not  speak  of  this  matter, 
I  pray  thee." 

"  Well,  let  us  not  speak  of  it.  Dost  thou  know,  Eva, 
I  like  thee  too  well  to  fall  in  love  with  thee  ?  One  feel- 
ing excludes  the  other.  From  the  time  that  I  made  thy 
acquaintance,  I  have  had  for  thee  a  real  genuine  feeling." 


522  THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 

"  But,"  said  Eva,  as  if  following  her  own  thoughts,  "  is 
it  true  that  thou  art  betrothed  ? " 

"  True." 

"  Why  hast  thou  not  told  me  of  it  ? " 

"Because  the  engagement  was  broken,  and  then  re- 
arranged not  long  since.  But  if  thou  tell  me  that  as 
betrothed  I  should  not  become  acquainted  with  Pani 
Helena,  I  will  answer,  that  I  was  a  painter  before  I  was 
betrothed.  However,  thou  hast  no  fear  for  her  ? " 

"  Do  not  imagine  that.  I  will  not  take  thee  to  her,  for 
I  do  not  wish  to  expose  her  to  people's  tongues.  They 
say  that  for  some  weeks  half  Warsaw  is  in  love  with 
thee;  they  relate  uncreated  things  of  thy  conduct.  No 
longer  back  than  yesterday,  I  heard  a  witticism,  that 
thou  hast  made  the  ten  commandments  of  God  into  one 
for  thy  own  use.  Knowest  thou  into  what  one  ?  " 

"  What  one  ? " 

"  Thou  shalt  not  covet  thy  neighbor's  wife  —  in  vain." 

"  Thou,  0  God,  seest  my  suffering  !  but  the  witticism 
is  good." 

"  And  surely  pointed." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Evus ; l  art  thou  willing  to  hear  the 
whole  truth  ?  I  have  ever  been  timid,  awkward  :  I  have 
not  had,  and  have  not  now  success  with  women.  People 
imagine,  God  knows  what ;  and  meanwhile  they  do  not 
suspect  how  much  truth  there  is  in  the  cry,  Thou,  0 
God,  seest  my  suffering ! " 

"  Povero  maestro  ! " 

"  Give  peace  to  thy  Italian ;  take  me  to  Pani  Helena." 

"  My  Vladek,  I  cannot ;  the  more  thou  art  thought  a 
Don  Juan,  the  less  does  it  beseem  me,  an  actress,  to  take 
thee  to  a  lone  woman  who  attracts  the  attention  that 
Hela2  does." 

1  Eva.  2  Helena. 


THAT  THIRD  WOMAN.  523 

"  Then  why  dost  thou  receive  me  ? " 

"I  am  different.  I  am  an  actress,  and  can  apply  to 
myself  the  words  of  Shakespeare,  '  Be  thou  as  chaste  as 
ice,  as  pure  as  snow,  thou  shalt  not  escape  calumny.'  " 

"  It  is  possible  to  lose  one's  senses  in  such  a  case.  Every 
one  may  know  her,  may  be  at  her  house,  may  look  at  her ; 
but  I  may  not !  And  why  ?  Because  I  have  painted  a 
good  picture  and  have  made  some  reputation." 

"  From  thy  point  of  view,  thou  art  right,"  said  Eva, 
smiling.  "Thou  dost  not  suspect  that  I  knew  before- 
hand why  thou  hast  come  to  me.  Ostrynski  was  here, 
and  he  persuaded  me  that  it  was  '  better '  not  to  take 
thee  to  Hela." 

"  Ha,  I  understand  !  —  and  thou  hast  promised  him  ? " 

"  I  have  not ;  I  was  even  angry ;  still  I  think  it  is 
'  better '  not  to  take  thee.  Let  us  talk  now  of  thy 
picture." 

"Do  not  torment  me  with  the  picture  and  painting. 
But  since  things  are  so,  let  them  be  so !  This  is  what  I 
will  tell  thee :  in  the  course  of  three  days  I  will  make 
the  acquaintance  of  Pani  Kolchanovski,  even  if  I  have  to 
go  in  disguise  to  her." 

"  Dress  up  as  gardener  and  take  her  a  bouquet  - —  from 
Ostrynski." 

But  at  that  moment  an  idea  altogether  different  comes 
to  me ;  this  idea  seems  so  splendid  that  I  strike  my 
forehead,  forget  my  anger  and  the  offence  which  a 
moment  before  I  felt  that  Eva  had  committed,  and 
say, — 

'•'  Give  thy  word  not  to  betray  me." 

"  I  give  it,"  says  the  curious  Eva. 

"  Know,  then,  that  I  shall  disguise  myself  as  an  old 
minstrel.  I  have  a  whole  costume  and  a  lyre ;  I  have 
been  in  the  Ukraine,  and  know  how  to  sing  songs.  Pani 


524  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

Helena  is  from  the  Ukraine ;  she  will  be  sure  to  receive 
me.  Dost  thou  understand  now  ? " 

"  What  an  original  idea ! "  cried  Eva. 

Eva  is  artistic  to  such  a  degree  that  the  idea  cannot 
but  please  her ;  besides,  she  has  given  her  word  not  to 
betray  me,  and  she  has  no  objection  to  make. 

"  What  an  original  idea ! "  repeats  she.  "  Hela  so  loves 
her  Ukraine  that  she  will  just  sob  when  she  sees  a  min- 
strel in  Warsaw ;  but  what  wilt  thou  tell  her  ?  How 
wilt  thou  explain  thy  coming  to  the  Vistula  ?" 

My  enthusiasm  is  communicated  to  Eva  in  spite  of  her. 
For  a  time  we  sit  and  conspire  in  the  best  fashion  possi- 
ble. We  agree  that  I  am  to  put  on  the  disguise ;  and  Eva 
is  to  take  me  in  a  carriage  to  avoid  the  curiosity  of  on- 
lookers. Pani  Hela  is  to  know  nothing  till  Eva  betrays 
the  secret  herself,  when  she  chooses.  Eva  and  I  amuse 
ourselves  with  this  plan,  perfectly;  then  I  fall  to  kissing 
her  hands,  and  she  keeps  me  for  lunch. 

I  spend  the  evening  at  the  Suslovskis.  Kazia  is  a  little 
gloomy  because  I  did  not  come  in  the  morning ;  but  I 
endure  her  humors  like  an  angel,  besides,  I  am  thinking 
of  my  adventure  of  the  morrow  and  —  of  Hela. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

ELEVEN  o'clock  in  the  forenoon. 
Only  somehow  Eva  is  not  visible. 

I  am  wearing  a  coarse  linen  shirt,  open  at  the  breast, 
a  coat  somewhat  worn,  but  fairly  good,  a  girdle,  boots, 
everything  that  is  needed.  The  hair  of  a  gray  wig  falls 
in  my  eyes  ;  and  he  would  have  been  a  keen  man  who 
could  have  recognized  that  as  a  wig;  my  beard  was  a 
masterpiece  of  patience.  From  eight  o'clock  in  the 


THAT  THIRD  WOMAN.  525 

morning  I  had  been  fastening,  by  means  of  isinglass,  white 
hair  among  my  own,  and  I  had  become  gray  in  such 
fashion  that  in  old  age  I  shall  not  grow  gray  more  natu- 
rally; diluted  sepia  gave  me  swarthiness;  and  Antek 
made  wrinkles  with  the  power  of  a  genius.  I  seemed  to 
be  seventy  years  old. 

Autek  insists  that,  instead  of  painting,  I  could  earn  my 
bread  as  a  model,  which  would  in  truth  be  with  greater 
profit  to  art. 

Half-past  eleven  —  Eva  is  coming. 

I  send  to  the  carriage  a  bundle  containing  my  usual 
t clothing,  since,  for  aught  I  know,  I  may  be  obliged  to 
change  costume ;  I  take  the  lyre  then,  and  go  down ;  at 
the  door  of  the  carriage  I  cry, — 

"  Slava  Bogu  ! "  l 

Eva  is  astonished  and  enchanted. 

"  A  wonderful  beekeeper,  a  wonderful  grandfather ! " 
repeats  she,  laughing.  "  Such  a  thing  could  only  come 
to  the  head  of  an  artist ! " 

Speaking  in  parenthesis,  she  herself  looks  like  a  sum- 
mer morning.  She  is  in  a  robe  of  raw  silk  and  a  straw 
hat  with  -poppies.  I  cannot  take  my  eyes  from  her. 
She  came  in  an  open  carriage.  Therefore  people  begin 
at  once  to  surround  us ;  but  what  does  she  care  for 
that! 

At  last  the  carriage  moves  on ;  my  heart  beats  with 
more  animation ;  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  shall  see  the 
Helena  dreamed  of. 

We  have  not  driven  a  hundred  yards  when  I  see 
Ostrynski  at  a  distance  coming  toward  us.  That  man 
must  be  omnipresent !  Seeing  us,  he  halts,  bows  to  Eva, 
then  looks  quickly  at  both  of  us,  especially  at  me.  I  do 
not  admit  that  he  recognizes  me  ;  still,  after  we  pass  him 

1  This  is  Russian.     Glory  to  God. 


526  THAT  THIRD   WOMAN. 

1  look  around,  and  see  that  he  is  standing  there  all  the 
time,  following  us  with  his  eyes.  Only  at  the  turn  do 
we  lose  him  from  sight.  The  carriage  moves  on  rather 
swiftly ;  still  it  seems  to  me  that  the  ride  lasts  an  age. 
At  length  we  stop  in  the  alley  of  Belvedere. 

We  are  before  Hela's  house. 

I  fly  to  the  door  as  if  shot  at  it. 

Eva  runs  after  me,  crying.  — 

"  What  a  hateful  old  grandfather  ! " 

The  servant,  in  a  very  showy  livery,  opens  the  door ;  and 
the  next  instant  opens  his  eyes  very  widely  at  sight  of  me. 
Eva  allays  his  astonishment,  saying  that  the  grandfather 
came  with  her,  and  we  go  upstairs. 

The  waiting-maid  appears  in  a  moment,  declares  that 
the  lady  is  dressing  in  the  next  chamber,  and  vanishes. 

"  Good-day,  Hela  ! "  cries  Eva. 

"  Good-day,  Evus  ! "  answers  a  wonderful,  a  fresh  voice, 
"  right  away !  right  away !  I  shall  be  ready  in  a 
moment." 

"  Hela,  thou  knowest  not  what  is  waiting  for  thee,  nor 
whom  thou  wilt  see.  I  have  brought  thee  a  'grandfather,' 
—  the  most  genuine  'grandfather-minstrel'  that  has  ever 
walked  over  the  steppes  of  the  Ukraine." 

A  cry  of  joy  is  heard  in  the  chamber;  the  door  opens 
suddenly,  and  in  rushes  Hela,  in  her  corsets,  her  hair 
hanging  down. 

"  A  grandfather  !  a  blind  grandfather  !  here  in  Warsaw !" 

"  He  is  not  blind  ;  he  sees  ! "  cried  Eva,  hurriedly,  not 
wishing  to  carry  the  jest  too  far. 

But  it  was  late,  for  that  instant  I  throw  myself  at 
Hela's  feet,  and  cry, — 

"  Cherub  of  the  Lord  ! " 

I  embrace  her  feet  with  both  hands,  raising  my  eyes 
the  while;  I  see  a  little  more  than  the  form  of  those 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  527 

feet.  Nations  kneel  down !  People  come  with  censers  ! 
A  Venus  of  Milo !  a  perfect  one ! 

"  Cherub  ! "  I  repeat,  with  genuine  ecstasy. 

My  minstrel  enthusiasm  was  explained  by  this,  that 
after  long  wandering  I  had  met  the  first  Ukraine  soul. 
Notwithstanding  that,  Hela  withdraws  her  feet  from  my 
hands  and  hurries  away.  I  see  her  bare  shoulders  during 
the  twinkle  of  an  eye,  and  her  neck,  which  reminds  me 
of  Psyche  in  the  Neapolitan  Museum.  She  vanishes 
then  through  the  doorway ;  but  I  remain  kneeling  in  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

Eva  threatens  me  with  her  parasol,  and  laughs,  hiding 
her  rosy  face  in  a  bouquet  of  reseda. 

Meanwhile  a  dialogue  is  begun  through  the  door  in  the 
most  beautiful  dialect  ever  spoken  from  the  Pripet  to 
Chertomelik. 

I  had  prepared  myself  for  every  possible  query,  there- 
fore I  lie  as  if  from  notes.  "  I  am  a  beekeeper,  from  near 
Chigirin.  My  daughter  wandered  after  a  Pole  to  War- 
saw ;  and  I,  old  man,  was  grieving,  grieving  on  the  bee- 
farm,  till  I  wandered  on  after  her.  Good  people  give  me 
coppers  for  singing  —  and  now  what  ?  I  shall  see  my 
dear  child,  give  her  my  blessing,  then  return  home, 
because  I  yearn  for  Mother  Ukraine.  There  I  am  to  die 
among  the  beehives.  Every  man  must  die ;  and  it  is  time 
for  old  Philip  this  long  while." 

What  a  thing  the  actor  nature  is  !  Evus  knows  who  I 
am ;  but  she  is  affected  so  much  by  my  role  that  she  be- 
gins to  nod  her  beautiful  head  in  a  melancholy  manner, 
and  looks  at  me  with  sympathy.  Hela's  voice  quivers 
from  the  other  room,  also  with  emotion. 

The  door  opens  a  little;  a  wonderfully  white  arm 
appears  through  the  opening;  and,  unexpectedly,  I  find 
myself  in  possession  of  three  rubles,  which  I  receive ;  I 


528  THAT  THIRD   WOMAN. 

cannot  do  otherwise,  and  what  is  more,  I  pour  out  on 
Hela's  head  a  torrent  of  blessings  in  the  names  of  all  the 
saints. 

I  am  interrupted  by  the  waiting-maid  with  the  an- 
nouncement that  Pan  Ostrynski  is  downstairs,  and 
inquires  if  the  lady  will  receive  him. 

"  Don't  let  him  in,  my  dear ! "  cries  Eva,  in  alarm. 

Hela  declares  that  of  course  she  will  not  receive  him. 
She  even  expresses  astonishment  at  such  an  early  visit. 
I,  to  tell  the  truth,  also  do  not  understand  how  Ostrynski, 
who  boasts,  and  is  celebrated  for  his  knowledge  of  social 
forms,  should  come  at  that  hour. 

"  There  is  something  in  this,"  says  Eva. 

But  time  fails  for  further  explanations,  since  Hela 
appears  at  that  moment  already  dressed,  and  breakfast  is 
announced. 

Both  ladies  pass  into  the  dining-room.  Hela  wishes  to 
seat  me  at  the  table ;  but  I  refuse,  and  sit  with  my  lyre 
at  the  threshold.  Soon  I  receive  a  plate  so  filled  with 
food  that  if  six  grandfathers  of  the  Ukraine  were  to  eat 
all  of  it,  they  might  have  a  fit  of  indigestion.  But  I  eat, 
for  I  am  hungry,  and  while  eating  I  look  at  Hela. 

In  truth,  a  more  beautiful  head  there  is  not  in  any  gal- 
lery on  earth.  As  I  live,  I  have  not  seen  such  transparent 
eyes ;  it  is  simply  possible  to  see  all  thoughts  through 
them,  just  as  the  bottom  of  a  clear  stream  is  seen.  Those 
eyes  possess  this  power  also,  that  they  begin  to  laugh  be- 
fore the  mouth  ;  by  this  the  face  is  brightened,  as  if  a  sun- 
ray  had  fallen  on  it.  What  incomparable  sweetness  in  the 
form  of  the  mouth !  That  is  a  head  somewhat  in  the 
style  of  Carlo  Dolce,  though  the  outline  of  the  brows  and 
the  eyes  bring  to  mind  Eaphael  in  his  noblest  type. 

At  last  I  cease  to  eat ;  I  gaze  and  gaze ;  I  would  gaze 
till  death. 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  529 

"Thou  wert  not  here  yesterday,"  says  Hela  to  Eva. 
"  I  hoped  all  the  afternoon  to  see  thee  run  in." 

"  In  the  morning  I  had  a  rehearsal,  and  in  the  afternoon 
I  wanted  to  see  Magorski's  picture." 

"  Didst  see  it  ? " 

"  Not  well,  for  there  was  a  crowd  —  and  thou  ? " 

"  I  went  in  the  morning.  What  a  poet !  —  one  wishes 
to  weep  with  those  Jews." 

Eva  looks  at  me,  and  my  soul  rises. 

"  I  will  go  again,  and  as  often  as  I  can,"  says  Hela. 
"  Let  us  go  together  ;  maybe  we  can  go  to-day  ?  It  was  so 
agreeable  to  me  not  only  to  look  at  that  picture,  but  to 
think  that  such  power  appeared  among  us. " 

And  people  do  not  glorify  that  woman  ! 

Then  I  hear  further,— 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  such  strange  things  are  told  of  that 
Magorski.  I  confess  that  I  am  dying  of  curiosity  to 
know  him." 

"  Ah  ! "  says  Eva,  carelessly. 

"  Thou  knowest  him,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  I  can  assure  thee  that  he  loses  much  on  closer 
acquaintance  ;  presumptuous,  vain,  oh,  how  vain  !  " 

I  have  such  a  desire  to  show  Eva  my  tongue  that  I  can 
barely  restrain  myself ;  she  turns  her  roguish  violet  eyes 
toward  me,  and  says,  — 

"  Somehow  thou  hast  lost  appetite,  grandfather  ? " 

I  '11  show  her  my  tongue ;   I  can't  restrain  myself ! 

But  she  spoke  again  to  Hela,  — 

"  Yes,  Magorski  is  much  worthier  of  admiration  than  of 
acquaintance.  Ostrynski  has  described  him  as  a  genius  in 
the  body  of  a  '  barber.'  " 

I  should  cut  off  Ostrynski's  ears  if  he  had  said  anything 
similar ;  I  knew  that  Eva  has  the  devil  at  her  collar ;  but 
in  truth  she  is  exceeding  the  measure.  Fortunately, 

34 


530  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

breakfast  comes  to  an  end.  We  go  out  to  the  grounds, 
where  I  am  to  give  my  songs.  This  annoys  me  some- 
what, and  I  should  rather  be  with  Hela  as  a  painter  than 
a  minstrel.  But  it  is  hard  to  escape !  I  sit  at  the  wall  in 
the  shade  of  chestnut-trees,  through  the  leaves  of  which 
the  sun  penetrates,  forming  on  the  ground  a  multitude  of 
bright  spots.  Those  spots  quiver  and  twinkle,  vanish  and 
shine  out  anew,  just  as  the  leaves  move.  The  garden  is 
very  deep,  so  the  sound  of  the  city  barely  reaches  it, 
especially  since  it  is  dulled  by  the  noise  of  fountains  in 
the  garden.  The  heat  is  great.  Among  the  thick  leaves, 
the  twittering  of  sparrows  is  heard ;  but  it  is  faint  and, 
as  it  were,  drowsy.  At  last  there  is  silence. 

I  see  that  a  perfectly  harmonious  picture  is  forming : 
A  garden,  a  background  of  trees,  spots  of  sunlight,  foun- 
tains, those  two  women  with  uncommonly  beautiful  faces 
one  of  them  leaning  against  the  other ;  and  I  see  an  old 
minstrel  sitting  with  a  lyre  at  the  wall,  —  all  this  has  its 
own  charm  which  affects  me  as  a  painter.  Meanwhile  I 
remember  my  role,  and  begin  to  sing  with  feeling, — 

"kPeople  say  that  I  am  happy ; 
I  laugh  at  their  saying, 
For  they  know  not  how  often 
I  am  covered  with  tears  1 

"  I  was  born  in  misfortune, 
In  misfortune  I  perish. 
Why  didst  bear  me,  O  mother, 
In  that  evil  hour  ?  " 

Eva  is  affected,  for  she  is  an  artist;  Hela  because  she  is 
from  the  Ukraine ;  and  I  —  because  both  are  so  beautiful 
that  the  sight  of  them  enchants  me. 

Hela  listens  without  exaggerated  attention,  without 
false  enthusiasm ;  but  in  her  transparent  eyes  I  see  that 
the  listening  gives  her  pure,  genuine  pleasure. 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  531 

How  different  from  those  Ukraine  women  who  corne  to 
Warsaw  for  the  carnival,  and  during  a  contra-dance  annoy 
partners  with  tales  of  homesickness  for  the  Ukraine ; 
while,  in  fact,  as  an  acquaintance  of  mine  puts  it,  no 
power  could  draw  one  of  them  with  hooks  from  Warsaw 
and  the  carnival  to  her  Ukraine ! 

Hela  listens,  keeps  time  with  her  exquisite  head ;  at 
moments  she  says  to  Eva,  "  I  know  that,"  and  sings  with 
me ;  I  surpass  myself.  I  cast  forth  from  my  bosom  and 
memory  a  whole  stock  of  material  from  the  steppe,  be- 
ginning with  hetmans,  knights,  and  Cossacks,  and  ending 
with  falcons,  Sonyas,  Marusyas,  steppes,  grave-mounds, 
and  God  knows  what !  I  am  astonished  myself,  whence 
so  much  comes  to  me. 

Time  passes  as  in  a  dream. 

I  return  a  trifle  weary,  but  enchanted. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

IN  the  studio  I  find,  most  unexpectedly,  the  Suslovskis 
and  Kazia.     They  have  come  to  give  me  a  surprise. 
Why  did  Antek  tell  them   that  surely   I  should  be 
back  soon  ? 

Neither  Kazia  nor  the  Suslovskis  know  me,  because  I 
am  disguised.  I  approach  Kazia  and  take  her  hand ;  she 
draws  back,  somewhat  frightened. 

"  Kazia,   dost    thou   not   know   me  ? "      And   laughter 

o 

seizes  me  at  sight  of  her  astonishment. 

"  But  it  is  Vladek,"  says  Antek. 

Kazia  looks  at  me  more  carefully ;  at  last  she  cries,  — 

"  Tfu  !  what  an  ugly  grandfather  !  " 

I  an  ugly  grandfather !  I  am  curious  to  know  where 
she  saw  a  handsomer.  But  for  poor  Kazia,  reared  in  the 


532  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

ascetic  principles  of  her  father,  of  course  every  minstrel 
is  ugly ! 

I  withdraw  to  our  kitchen,  and  after  a  few  minutes 
reappear  in  my  natural  form.  Kazia  and  her  parents  in- 
quire what  this  masquerade  means. 

"  A  very  simple  thing.  You  see,  sometimes  we  painters 
render  one  another  a  friendly  service,  and  pose  to  one 
another  for  pictures.  As  Antek,  who  posed  to  me  for  an 
old  Jew.  You  did  n't  know  him,  Kazia,  did  you,  in  the 
picture  ?  I  am  posing  for  Tsepkovski.  Such  is  the  cus- 
tom among  painters,  especially  as  there  is  a  lack  of 
models  in  Warsaw." 

"  We  have  come  to  give  thee  a  surprise,"  said  Kazia ; 
"  besides,  T  have  never  visited  a  studio  in  my  life.  Oh, 
what  disorder  !  Is  it  this  way  with  all  painters  ?  " 

"  More  or  less,  more  or  less." 

Pan  Suslovski  declares  that  he  would  rather  find  a 
little  more  system;  and  in  this  respect  he  hopes  for  a 
change  in  the  future.  I  want  to  break  his  head  with  my 
lyre.  Meanwhile  Kazia  smiles  with  coquettishness,  and 
says,  — 

"There  is  one  painter,  a  great  good-for-nothing,  with 
whom  it  will  be  different ;  only  let  me  take  the  matter 
in  hand,  all  will  be  put  in  order,  arranged,  cleaned, 
fumigated." 

Thus  speaking,  she  raises  her  nose,  which  is  in  the  air, 
looks  at  the  festoons  of  spider-webs  adorning  the  corners 
of  our  studio,  and  adds,  — 

"  Such  disorder  might  discourage  a  merchant  even. 
Some  one  will  come,  and  immediately  find  himself,  as  it 
were,  in  an  old  clothes  shop.  For  example,  look  at  that 
armor ;  terrible  how  rusty  it  is  t  Still,  all  that  is  needed 
is  to  call  a  servant,  tell  her  to  crush  a  little  brick;  and 
all  will  besin  to  shine  like  a  new  samovar." 


THAT   THIRD   WOMAN.  533 

Jesus  Mary !  She  talks  of  merchants,  and  wants  to 
clean  with  brick-dust  my  armor  dug  out  of  a  tomb  —  O 
Kazia,  Kazia  ! 

Suslovski,  now  happy,  kisses  her  on  the  forehead ;  and 
Antek  gives  out  certain  ominous  sounds  which  call  to 
mind  the  grunting  of  a  wild  boar. 

Kazia  threatens  me  with  forefinger  on  her  nose,  and 
talks  on, — 

"  I  beg  thee  to  remember  that  all  will  be  changed." 
Then  she  concludes,  "  And  if  a  certain  gentleman  will 
not  come  to  us  this  evening,  he  will  be  bad,  and  people 
will  not  love  him." 

So  saying,  she  closes  her  eyes.  I  cannot  say  that  there 
was  not  much  charm  in  those  tricks  of  hers.  I  promise 
to  come ;  and  I  conduct  my  future  family  to  the  ground- 
floor. 

Keturning,  I  find  Antek  looking  awry  and  distrustfully 
on  a  whole  package  of  hundred  ruble  notes  which  are 
lying  on  the  table. 

"  What  is  that  ? " 

"  Dost  know  what  has  happened  ? " 

"  I  do  not." 

"  I,  like  a  common  thief,  robbed  a  man." 

"  How  ? " 

"  I  sold  him  my  corpses." 

"  And  is  that  the  money  ? " 

"  It  is  ;  I  am  a  low  usurer." 

I  embrace  Antek ;  I  congratulate  him  from  my  whole 
heart ;  he  begins  to  relate  how  it  happened,  — 

"  I  sit  here  after  your  departure,  till  some  gentleman 
comes  and  asks  if  I  am  Svyatetski.  I  answer,  'I  am 
curious  to  know  why  I  should  not  be  Svyatetski ! '  Then 
he  says,  '  I  saw  your  picture  and  I  want  to  buy  it.'  I 
say, '  You  are  free  to  do  so ;  but  permit  me  to  say  that  a 


534  THAT  THIRD   WOMAN. 

man  must  be  an  idiot  to  buy  a  wretched  picture.'  '  I  am 
not  an  idiot/  says  he ;  '  but  I  have  a  fancy  to  buy  pictures 
painted  by  idiots.'  '  If  that  is  so,  very  well,'  I  answer. 
He  asks  the  price.  I  say, ' What  is  that  to  me  ? '  'I  will 
give  you  so  much  and  so  much  ? '  '  That  is  well !  if  you 
will  give  that  price,  then  give  it.'  He  gave  it,  and  went 
away.  He  left  his  card  with  the  name  Byalkovski, 
M.  D.  I  am  a  low  usurer,  and  that 's  the  end  of  the 
matter ! " 

"  Long  life  to  the  corpses  !     Antek,  get  married." 
"  I  would  rather  hang  myself ;  I  am  a  low  usurer,  noth- 
ing more." 

CHAPTER  XV. 

IN  the  evening  I  am  at  the  Suslovskis ;  Kazia  and  I  are 
in  the  niche  in  which  there  is  a  small  sofa.  Pani 
Suslovski  is  sitting  at  a  table  lighted  by  a  lamp,  and  is 
sewing  on  something  for  Kazia's  trousseau.  Pan  Sus- 
lovski sits  at  a  table  reading,  with  dignity,  the  evening 
number  of  "  The  Kite." 

Somehow  I  am  not  myself;  I  wish  to  dissipate  that 
feeling  by  pushing  up  very  near  Kazia. 

In  the  salon  silence  is  supreme ;  it  is  interrupted  only 
by  Kazia's  whisper.  I  beg  to  embrace  her ;  she  whispers, — 

"  Vladek,  papa  will  see  us." 

With  that  "  papa  "  begins  to  read  aloud,  "  The  picture 
of  our  well-known  artist,  Svyatetski,  '  The  Last  Meeting,' 
was  bought  to-day  by  Dr.  Byalkovski  for  fifteen  hundred 
rubles." 

"  That  is  true,"  I  add.     "  Antek  sold  it  this  morning." 

Then  I  try  to  embrace  Kazia,  and  again  I  hear  her 
whisper,  — 

"  Papa  will  see  us  —  " 


THAT  THIRD   WOMAN.  535 

My  eyes  turn  involuntarily  to  Pan  Suslovski.  I  see 
on  a  sudden  that  his  face  is  changing ;  he  shades  his  eyes 
with  his  hands  and  bends  over  "  The  Kite." 

What  the  devil  can  he  find  there  of  such  interest? 

"  Father,  what  is  the  matter  ? "  asks  Pani  Suslovski. 

He  rises,  advances  two  steps  toward  us,  then  halts, 
transfixes  me  with  a  glance,  and,  clasping  his  hands 
begins  to  nod  his  head. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  I  ask. 

"  See  how  falsehood  and  crime  come  always  to  the 
surface,"  answers  Suslovski,  pathetically.  "  My  dear  sir, 
read  to  the  end,  if  shame  will  permit." 

Thus  speaking,  he  makes  a  movement  as  if  to  wrap 
himself  in  his  toga,  and  gives  me  "  The  Kite."  I  take 
the  number,  and  my  glance  falls  on  an  announcement 
entitled:  "  A  Minstrel  of  the  Ukraine."  I  am  confused 
somewhat,  and  read  hurriedly  the  following,  — • 

"Some  days  since  a  rare  guest  came  to  our  city  in  the 
person  of  a  decrepit  minstrel  who  visits  Ukraine  families 
resident  among  us,  begging  them  for  alms,  and  singing 
songs  in  return.  It  is  said  that  our  well-known  and  sym- 
pathetic actress,  Eva  Adami,  is  particularly  occupied  with 
him ;  he  was  seen  with  her  in  a  carriage  no  longer  ago 
than  this  morning.  In  the  first  days  of  the  appearance  of 
this  guest  from  a  distance,  a  wonderful  report  rose  that 
under  the  coat  of  the  minstrel  is  hidden  one  of  the  most 
famous  of  our  artists,  who,  in  this  manner,  without  arrest- 
ing the  attention  of  husbands  and  guardians,  finds  easy 
access  to  boudoirs.  We  are  convinced  that  this  report  has 
no  foundation,  even  for  this  reason  alone,  that  our  diva 
would  never  consent  to  further  an  undertaking  of  that 
kind.  The  old  man,  according  to  our  information,  has 
wandered  in  here  straight  from  the  Ukraine.  His  intelli- 
gence is  dulled  somewhat ;  but  his  memory  is  perfect." 


536  THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 

«  Hell ! " 

Suslovski  is  so  enraged  that  he  cannot  recover  his 
voice;  at  last  he  casts  forth  his  superabundance  of 
indignation,  — 

"  What  new  falsehood,  what  excuse  will  you  find  to 
justify  your  conduct  ?  Have  we  not  seen  you  to-day  in 
that  shameful  disguise  ?  Who  is  that  minstrel  ?  " 

"  I  am  that  minstrel,"  I  answer ;  "  hut  I  do  not  under- 
stand why  you  find  that  disguise  shameful." 

At  that  moment  Kazia  snatches  "  The  Kite  "  from  my 
hand  and  begins  to  read.  Suslovski  wraps  himself  still 
more  closely  in  the  toga  of  indignation  and  continues,  — 

"  Scarcely  have  you  passed  the  threshold  of  an  honest 
house  when  you  bring  with  you  corruption ;  and  before 
you  are  the  husband  of  that  unfortunate  child,  you,  in 
company  with  women  of  light  character,  betray  her ;  you 
trample  already  on  her  confidence  and  ours ;  you  break 
your  plighted  word  —  and  for  whom  ?  For  a  hetaira  of 
the  theatre ! " 

Anger  carries  me  off  at  last. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  say  I,  "  enough  of  those  commonplaces. 
That  hetaira  is  worth  ten  such  false  Catos  as  you.  You 
are  nothing  to  me  yet ;  and  know  this,  that  you  annoy 
me !  I  have  enough  of  you  with  your  pathos,  with 
your—  Here  words  fail  me;  but  I  have  no  further 
need  of  them,  for  Suslovski  is  opening  his  waistcoat,  as  if 
wishing  to  say, — 

"  Strike  !  spare  not,  here  is  my  breast ! " 

But  I  have  no  thought  of  striking;  I  declare  simply 
that  I  am  going,  lest  I  might  say  something  more  to  Pan 
Suslovski. 

In  fact,  I  leave  without  saying  farewell  to  any  one. 

The  fresh  breeze  cools  my  heated  head.  Nine  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  and  the  night  is  very  calm.  I  must  walk 


THAT  THIRD   WOMAN.  537 

to  regain  my  composure,  therefore  I  fly  to  the  Alley  of 
the  Belvedere. 

The  windows  in  Hela's  villa  are  dark.  Evidently  she 
is  not  at  home.  I  know  not  myself  why  that  causes  me 
immense  disappointment. 

If  I  could  see  even  her  shadow  on  the  window-pane, 
I  should  grow  calm ;  but  as  it  is,  anger  bears  me  away 
again. 

What  I  shall  do  with  that  Ostrynski  at  the  first  meet- 
ing —  I  know  not.  Fortunately,  he  is  not  a  man  who 
withdraws  before  responsibility. 

But  speaking  precisely,  what  claim  have  I  against 
him  ?  The  article  is  written  with  infernal  dexterity. 
Ostrynski  denies  that  the  minstrel  is  a  disguised  painter ; 
he  stands  up,  as  it  were,  for  Eva ;  but  at  the  same  time 
betrays  the  whole  secret  to  Hela.  Evidently  he  is  trying 
to  compromise  Eva  in  the  opinion  of  Hela ;  he  takes 
vengeance  on  me  for  Kazia,  and  covers  me  besides  with 
ridicule. 

If  only  he  had  n't  said  that  my  intelligence  is  blunted ! 
The  deed  is  done.  In  Hela's  eyes  I  am  covered  with 
ridicule.  She  reads  "The  Kite." 

Oh,  what  a  dish  of  hash,  and  what  bitterness  for  Eva ! 
How  that  Ostrynski  must  triumph!  Surely  I  must  do 
something ;  but  if  I  know  what,  may  I  become  a  reporter 
for  "  The  Kite  "  ! 

It  occurs  to  me  to  take  counsel  with  Eva.  She  plays 
to-day ;  I  will  fly  to  the  theatre  and  see  her  after  the 
play. 

There  is  time  yet. 

Half  an  hour  later  I  am  in  her  dressing-room. 

Eva  will  finish  directly ;  meanwhile,  I  look  around. 

Our  theatres  are  not  distinguished,  as  is  known,  for 
luxury  of  furnishing.  A  chamber  with  white  walls ;  two 


538  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

jets  of  gas  quivering  from  the  draught ;  a  mirror ;  a  wash- 
staud  ;  a  number  of  chairs ;  and  in  one  corner  a  long  chair, 
probably  the  private  property  of  the  diva,  —  this  is  her 
dressing-room.  Before  the  mirror  a  multitude  of  toilet 
articles,  a  cup  of  black  coffee  partly  drunk,  boxes  with 
rouge  and  white,  lead  for  the  brows,  a  number  of  pairs  of 
gloves,  still  retaining  the  form  of  the  hand,  and  among 
them  two  false  tresses;  at  the  side  walls  bunches  of 
costumes,  white,  rose-colored,  dark,  light,  and  heavy ;  on 
the  floor  are  two  baskets  full  of  things  pertaining  to  female 
costumes.  The  room  is  full  of  odor  of  toilet  powder. 
What  a  medley  everywhere ;  how  everything  has  been 
cast  about  in  a  hurry !  How  many  colors  and  reflections ; 
what  shadows ;  what  a  play  of  light  from  the  quivering 
gas-jets ! 

That  is  a  picture  of  its  own  kind ;  there  is  character  in 
it.  Of  course  there  is  nothing  here  more  than  in  an 
ordinary  dressing-room  of  a  woman,  still  there  is  some- 
thing which  causes  that  chamber  to  seem,  not  a  dressing- 
room,  but  a  sanctuary  of  some  kind ;  there  is  a  certain 
spell  and  charm  there.  Above  this  disorder,  this  medley 
and  hurry,  between  these  scratched  walls,  hovers  the 
inspiration  of  art. 

A  thunder  of  applause  is  heard.  Ha !  it  is  finished. 
Through  the  walls  come  to  my  ears  the  sound  of  calling ; 
"  Adami !  Adami ! "  A  quarter  of  an  hour  passes ;  they 
are  shouting  yet. 

At  last  Eva  rushes  in ;  she  is  in  the  character  of 
"  Theodora."  She  has  a  crown  on  her  head ;  her  eyes 
blackened  underneath ;  on  her  cheeks  a  blush  of  rouge ; 
her  dishevelled  hair  falls  like  a  storm  on  her  naked 
neck  and  shoulders.  She  is  feverish  and  exhausted 
to  that  degree  that  she  speaks  to  me  in  a  whisper 
barely  audible. 


THAT  THIRD   WOMAN.  539 

"  How  art  them,  Vladek  ? "  and  removing  her  crown 
hurriedly,  she  throws  herself  in  her  regal  robes  on  the 
long  chair.  Evidently  she  cannot  utter  words;  for  she 
looks  at  me  silently,  like  a  suffering  bird.  I  sit  near 
her,  place  my  hand  on  her  head,  and  think  only  of 
her. 

I  see  in  those  blackened  eyes  the  flame  of  unquenched 
ecstasy ;  I  see  on  that  forehead  simply  the  stigma  of  art. 
I  see  that  the  woman  brings  to  the  altar  of  that  theatri- 
cal Moloch  her  health,  blood,  and  life,  that  breath  is  lack- 
ing in  her  breast  at  that  moment.  Such  pity  embraces 
me,  such  sorrow,  such  sympathy,  that  I  know  not  what 
to  do. 

We  sit  some  time  in  silence ;  at  last  Eva  points  to  a 
number  of  "  The  Kite "  lying  on  the  toilet  table,  and 
whispers, — 

"  What  a  vexation,  what  a  vexation ! " 

Suddenly  she  bursts  into  nervous  weeping,  and  trem- 
bles like  a  leaf. 

I  know  that  she  is  weeping  from  weariness,  not  be- 
cause of  "The  Kite,-"  for  that  article  is  buffoonery  which 
every  one  will  forget  to-morrow ;  and  the  whole  of 
Ostrynski  is  not  worth  one  tear  from  Eva ;  still  my  heart 
is  straitened  the  more.  I  seize  her  hands  and  cover  them 
with  kisses.  I  take  her ;  I  press  her  to  my  breast.  My 
heart  begins  to  beat  with  growing  violence ;  something 
amazing  takes  place  in  me.  I  kneel  down  at  Eva's  knees, 
not  knowing  myself  what  I  am  doing ;  a  cloud  covers  my 
eyes ;  suddenly  I  seize  her  in  my  arms,  without  thinking 
what  I  do. 

"  Vladek,  Vladek,  pity  ! "  whispers  Eva. 

But  I  press  her  to  my  stormy  breast ;  I  know  nothing 
of  anything.  I  have  lost  my  wits !  I  kiss  her  on  the 
forehead,  mouth,  eyes ;  I  can  only  say,  — 


540  THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 

*'•  I  love  thee  !     I  love  —  " 

With  that  Eva's  head  drops  back  ;  her  arms  enclose  my 
neck  feverishly,  and  I  hear  the  whisper,  — 
"  I  have  loved  thee  this  long  time." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

IF  for  me  there  is  a  dearer  creature  on  earth,  I  am  a 
pickled  herring. 

They  say  that  we  artists  do  everything  under  the  first 
impression  of  the  moment ;  that  is  not  true  !  for  it  seems 
that  I  loved  Eva  long  ago,  only  I  was  ass  enough  not  to 
see  it.  God  alone  knows  what  took  place  in  me  while 
I  attended  her  home  that  evening.  We  went  hand  in 
hand,  without  speaking.  From  moment  to  moment  I 
pressed  Eva's  arm  to  my  side,  and  she  pressed  mine.  I 
felt  that  she  loved  me  with  all  her  power. 

I  conducted  her  upstairs,  and  when  we  were  in  her 
little  drawing-room,  the  position  became  in  some  way  so 
awkward  for  us  that  we  did  n't  dare  to  look  into  each 
other's  eyes.  But  when  Eva  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  I  removed  them  gently  and  said,  — 

"  Evus,  thou  art  mine,  is  it  not  true  ? " 

And  she  nestled  up  to  ine. 

"  I  am,  I  am." 

She  was  so  beautiful,  her  eyes  were  drowsy,  and  at  the 
same  time  gleaming,  there  was  such  a  sweet  weariness 
in  her  whole  posture  that  I  could  not  break  away  from 
her. 

And  in  truth  she  could  not  break  from  me ;  she  wished, 
as  it  were,  to  reward  herself  for  continued  silence,  and  for 
such  a  long-concealed  feeling. 

I  returned  home  late.     Antek  was  not  sleeping  yet ; 


THAT  THIRD  WOMAN.  541 

he  was  drawing  by  lamplight,  on  wood,  for  one  of  the 
illustrated  papers. 

"  There  is  a  letter  here  for  you,"  said  he,  without  rais- 
ing his  eyes  from  his  work. 

I  take  a  letter  from  the  table  and  feel  a  ring  through 
the  envelope.  Good !  that  ring  will  do  for  to-morrow. 
I  open  the  letter,  and  read  as  follows, — 

I  know  that  the  return  of  this  ring  will  cause  pleasure, 
for  you  had  this  in  view  evidently.  As  to  me,  I  do  not 
think  of  rivalling  actresses.  KAZIA. 

At  least  it  is  brief.  From  this  letter  anger  alone  is 
looking  forth,  nothing  more.  If  any  shade  of  charm 
surrounded  Kazia  in  my  eyes  hitherto,  that  shade  is 
blown  away  now  beyond  return. 

A  wonderful  thing!  all  supposed  that  Eva  was  the 
cause  of  my  disguise  and  of  all  those  adventures ;  and 
in  truth  the  cause  of  what  follows  will  be  Eva. 

I  crush  the  letter,  put  it  in  my  pocket,  and  go  to  bed. 

Antek  raises  his  eyes  from  his  work,  and  looks  in 
expectation  that  I  will  say  something;  but  I  am  silent. 

"That  scoundrel  Ostrynski  was  here  this  evening  after 
the  theatre,"  said  Antek. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

IN  the  morning  about  ten  o'clock  I  wish  to  fly  to  Eva; 
but  I  cannot,  for  I  have  guests. 

Baron  Kartofler  comes  and  engages  a  duplicate  of  my 
"  Jews."  He  offers  me  fifteen  hundred  rubles  ;  I  want 
two  thousand.  The  bargain  is  made  at  that  price. 
After  his  departure  I  receive  an  order  for  two  portraits 


542  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 

from  Tanzenberg.  Antek,  who  is  an  Anti-Semite,  reviles 
me  as  a  Jewish  painter ;  but  I  am  curious  to  know  who 
would  buy  productions  of  art,  if  not  the  "  finance."  If 
the  "  finance  "  is  afraid  of  Antek's  corpses,  the  fault  is  not 
mine. 

I  am  with  Eva  at  one  o'clock.  I  give  her  the  ring, 
and  declare  that  we  shall  go  to  Home  after  our  marriage. 

Eva  consents  with  delight.  We  are  as  much  given  to 
talking  to-day  as  we  were  to  silence  last  evening.  I  tell 
her  of  the  order  which  I  have  received,  and  we  rejoice 
together.  I  must  finish  the  portraits  before  our  depart- 
ure ;  but  "  the  Jews  "  for  Kartofler  I  will  paint  in  Koine. 
When  we  return  to  Warsaw,  I  will  fit  up  a  studio,  and  we 
will  live  as  in  heaven. 

While  forming  these  projects,  I  tell  Eva  that  we  will 
keep  the  anniversary  of  yesterday  as  a  holiday  all  our 
lives. 

She  hides  her  face  on  my  shoulder,  and  begs  me  not 
to  mention  it.  Then  she  winds  the  split  sleeves  of  her 
gown  round  my  neck,  and  calls  me  her  great  man.  She 
is  paler  than  usual ;  her  eyes  are  more  violet  than  usual, 
but  they  are  beaming  with  gladness. 

Ah !  what  an  ass,  that  having  near  me  such  a  woman 
I  was  seeking  for  happiness  elsewhere,  in  a  circle  where 
I  was  a  perfect  stranger,  and  which  was  strange  to  me. 

What  an  artistic  nature  that  of  Eva!  She  is  my 
betrothed,  accepts  the  role  at  once,  and  involuntarily 
plays  the  part  of  a  young  and  happy  affianced.  But 
I  do  not  take  that  ill  of  a  beloved  creature,  after  so 
many  years  in  a  theatre. 

After  dinner  we  go  to  Hela  Kolchanovski's. 

From  the  moment  that  Eva  can  present  me  as  her 
betrothed,  the  minstrel  trick  becomes  innocent  and  can 
cause  no  misunderstanding  between  those  two  ladies.  In 


THAT  THIRD  WOMAN.  543 

fact,  when  Hela  heard  of  the  engagement,  she  received  us 
with  open  arms,  and  was  delighted  at  Eva's  happiness. 
We  laugh  like  three  maniacs  at  the  "  grandfather,"  and 
at  that  which  the  "  grandfather  "  had  to  hear  concerning 
the  painter  Magorski.  Yesterday  I  wanted  to  put  a 
stiletto  into  Ostrynski ;  to-day  I  am  astonished  at  his 
cleverness. 

Hela  laughs  so  heartily  that  her  transparent  eyes  are 
filled  with  tears.  Speaking  in  parenthesis,  she  is  marvel- 
lous. When  she  inclines  her  head  at  the  end  of  the  visit, 
I  cannot  take  my  eyes  from  it ;  and  Eva  herself  is  under 
its  spell  to  such  a  degree  that  during  the  day  she  imi- 
tates unconsciously  that  bending  of  the  neck  and  that 
look. 

We  agree  that,  after  our  return  from  abroad,  I  shall 
paint  a  portrait  of  Hela  ;  but  first  I  shall  make  my  Eva 
in  Eome,  if  I  can  reproduce  those  features,  which  are  so 
delicate  that  they  are  almost  over-refined,  and  that  face, 
so  impressionable  that  every  emotion  is  reflected  in  it  as 
a  cloud  in  clear  water. 

But  I  shall  succeed  ;  why  should  n't  I  ? 

The  evening  "  Kite  "  publishes  uncreated  tales  of  the 
orders  which  have  come  to  me ;  my  income  is  reckoned 
by  thousands.  That  in  a  small  -degree  is  the  reason, 
perhaps,  that  next  day  I  receive  a  letter  from  Kazia, 
stating  that  she  returned  the  ring  under  the  influence 
of  anger  and  jealousy,  but  if  I  come  and  we  fall  at 
the  feet  of  her  parents,  they  will  let  themselves  be 
implored. 

I  have  enough  of  that  falling  at  the  feet  and  those 
forgivenesses.  I  do  not  answer.  Let  him  fall  at  Sus- 
lovski's  feet  who  wants  to ;  let  Kazia  marry  Ostrynski ! 
I  have  my  Eva. 

But  my  silence  casts  an  evident   panic  on   the  Sus- 


544  THAT  THIRD   WOMAN. 

lovski  family  ;  for  a  few  days  later  the  same  messenger 
comes  with  a  letter  from  Kazia,  but  this  time  to  Antek. 

Antek  shows  me  the  letter.  Kazia  prays  him  to  come 
for  a  moment's  conversation  concerning  an  affair  on 
which  her  whole  future  depends ;  she  reckons  on  his 
heart,  on  that  sense  of  justice  which  from  the  first 
glance  of  the  eye  she  divined  in  him.  She  has  the  hope 
that  lie  will  not  refuse  the  prayer  of  an  unhappy  woman. 
Antek  curses,  mutters  something  under  his  nose  about 
low  Philistines,  and  about  the  necessity  of  hanging  both 
them  and  their  posterity  at  the  next  opportunity  ;  but  he 
goes. 

I  divine  that  they  wish  to  influence  me  through  him. 


CHAPTEK   XVIII. 

A  NTEK,  who  in  reality  has  a  soft  heart,  is  won  over 
J~\  evidently.  For  a  week  he  goes  to  the  Suslovskis 
regularly  ;  for  three  days  he  walks  around  me,  frowns, 
looks  at  me  just  like  a  wolf. 

At  last  one  day  at  tea  he  inquires  peevishly,  "Well, 
what  dost  thou  think  of  doing  with  that  girl  ? " 

"  With  what  girl  ?  "• 

"  With  that  Suslovski,  or  what  is  her  name  ? " 

"  I  don't  think  of  doing  anything  with  that  Suslovski, 
or  what  is  her  name." 

A  moment  of  silence  follows,  then  Antek  speaks 
again,  — 

"  She  is  whining  whole  days,  till  I  cannot  look  at 
her." 

What  an  honest  soul !  At  that  moment  too  his  voice 
trembles  with  emotion ;  but  he  snorts  like  a  rhinoceros 
and  adds, — 


THAT   THIRD    AYOMAN.  545 

"  A  decent  man  does  not  act  in  that  fashion." 

"Antek,  thou  art  beginning  to  remind  me  of  Papa 
Suslovski." 

"I  would  rather  remind  thee  of  Papa  Suslovski  than 
wrong  his  daughter." 

"  I  beg  thee  to  drop  me." 

"  Very  well !  I  can  even  not  know  thee  at  all." 

With  this  the  conversation  ends,  and  thenceforth  I  do 
not  speak  to  Antek. 

We  pretend  not  to  know  each  other,  which  is  the  more 
amusing  since  we  live  together.  We  drink  tea  together 
in  the  morning,  and  it  never  occurs  to  either  of  us  to 
move  out  of  the  studio. 

The  time  of  my  marriage  is  approaching.  Through 
the  intermediary  of  "  The  Kite "  all  Warsaw  knows  of 
that  now.  All  look  at  us ;  all  admire  Eva.  When  we 
were  at  the  exhibition,  they  surrounded  us  so  that  we 
could  not  push  through. 

My  unknown  friendm  sends  an  anonymous  letter 
in  which  she  warns  me  that  Eva  is  not  the  wife  for 
a  man  like  me. 

"I  do  not  believe  what  is  said  of  the  relations  between 
Panna  Adami  and  Pan  Ostrynski  [writes  my  friendm]  ; 
but  thou,  0  master,  art  in  need  of  a  wife  who  would 
devote  herself  altogether  to  thy  greatness ;  Panna  Adami 
is  an  artist  herself,  and  will  always  be  drawing  water 
to  her  own  mill." 

Antek  goes  continually  to  the  Suslovskis,  but  surely 
as  a  comforter,  for  the  Suslovskis  must  know  of  my 
intentions. 

I  have  obtained  an  unlimited  leave  of  absence  for  Eva. 
She  begins  to  wear  her  hair  as  a  village  maiden ;  she 
dresses  very  modestly  and  wears  robes  closed  to  the 
neck.  This  becomes  her  very  much.  The  scene  in  the 

35 


546  THAT   THIRD   WOMAN. 

dressing-room  has  not  been  repeated.  Eva  does  not  per- 
mit it.  The  utmost  right  I  have  is  to  kiss  her  hands. 
That  makes  me  greatly  impatient;  but  I  natter  myself 
that  it  affects  her  in  the  same  way. 

She  loves  me  madly.  We  spend  whole  days  together. 
I  have  begun  to  give  her  lessons  in  drawing.  She  is 
swallowed  up  in  those  lectures,  and  painting  in  general. 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 

r  I  ^HUNDEE  hurling  Zeus,  at  what  art  thou  gazing 

JL  from  the  summit  of  Olympus  ?  Things  are  done 
of  which  philosophers  have  never  dreamed. 

On  the  eve  of  my  marriage  Antek  comes  to  me,  nudges 
me  with  his  elbow,  and,  turning  aside  his  dishevelled  head, 
says  gloomily, — 

"  Vladek,  dost  thou  know  I  have  committed  a  crime  ?" 

"  Well,  since  thou  hast  mentioned  it,"  I  answer, "  what 
sort  of  a  crime  ? " 

Antek  looks  at  the  floor  fixedly,  and  says,  as  if  to 
himself,  — 

"  That  such  a  drunkard  as  I,  such  an  idiot  without 
talent,  such  a  moral  and  physical  bankrupt  should  marry 
such  a  maiden  as  Kazia  is  an  out-and-out  crime." 

I  do  not  believe  my  ears ;  but  I  throw  myself  on  my 
friend's  neck  without  regard  to  the  fact  that  he  pushes 
me  away. 

His  marriage  will  be  in  a  couple  of  days. 


THAT   THIRD    WOMAN.  547 


CHAPTEE   XX. 

AFTER  a  residence  of  some  months  in  Rome,  Eva  and 
I  receive  a  splendid  card  inviting  us  to  the  wedding 
of  Pan  Ostrynski  and  Panna  Helena  Turno,  primo  voto, 
Kolchauovski. 

We  cannot  go,  for  Eva's  health  does  not  permit. 
Eva  paints  continually,  and  makes  immense  progress. 
I  receive  a  gold  medal   in  Pest.     A  certain  rich  Croat 
bought  my  picture.     I  have  entered  into  relations  with 
Goupil. 


CHAPTER   XXL 

A  SON  is  born  to  me  in  Verona. 
Eva  herself  says  that  she  has  never  seen  such  a 
child. 

Uncommon. 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

FOR  some  months  we  are  in  Warsaw. 
I  have  fitted  up  a  splendid  studio.  We  visit  the 
Ostrynskis  rather  frequently.  He  has  sold  "  The  Kite," 
and  is  -now  "  President  of  the  Society  for  Distributing 
Barley  Grits  to  Laborers  out  of  Employment."  Nothing- 
can  give  an  idea  of  his  lordliness  or  the  gratitude  with 
which  he  is  surrounded.  He  pats  me  on  the  shoulder 
and  says  to  me  :  "  Well,  benefactor  !  "  He  patronizes 
literary  talents  also,  and  receives  on  Wednesdays. 

She  is  as  beautiful  as  a  dream.     They  have  no  children. 


548  THAT  THIRD  WOMAN. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

OH,  save  me  or  I  die  of  laughter.  Antek  and  his  wife 
have  coine  home  from  Paris.  She  poses  as  the  wife 
of  an  artist  of  golden  Bohemia ;  he  wears  silk  shirts,  has  a 
forelock,  and  wears  his  beard  wedge-form.  I  understand 
all ;  I  understand  that  she  could  overcome  his  habits,  his 
character ;  but  how  did  she  conquer  his  hair  ?  —  that  re- 
mains for  me  an  endless  puzzle. 

Antek  has  not  stopped  painting  "  corpses ; "  but  he 
paints  also  genre  pictures  of  village  life.  He  has  great 
success.  He  paints  portraits  too ;  these,  however,  with 
less  result,  for  the  carnation  always  recalls  the  "  corpse." 

I  asked  him,  through  old  friendship,  if  he  is  happy  with 
his  wife.  He  told  me  that  he  had  never  dreamed  of  such 
happiness.  I  confess  that  Kazia  has  disappointed  me  in 
a  favorable  sense. 

I  too  should  be  perfectly  happy,  were  it  not  that  Eva 
begins  to  be  a  little  weak,  and,  besides,  the  poor  thing 
becomes  peevish.  I  heard  her  crying  once  in  the  night. 
I  know  what  that  means.  She  is  pining  for  the  theatre. 
She  says  nothing,  but  she  pines. 

I  have  begun  a  portrait  of  Pani  Ostrynski.  She  is 
simply  an  incomparable  woman  !  Regard  for  Ostrynski 
would  not  restrain  me,  of  course,  and  were  it  not  that  to 
this  hour  I  love  Eva  immensely,  I  know  not  — 

But  I  love  Eva  immensely,  immensely  ! 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTES. 

^HAECOAL  SKETCHES  were  written  in  the  Pico 
v~x  House,  Los  Angeles,  California,  in  1878.  Perhaps 
the  hotel  is  in  existence  yet ;  in  that  case  the  register 
for  the  above  year  contains  the  signature  of  Sienkiewicz 
and  the  number  of  his  room.  These  Charcoal  Sketches,  as 
the  author  informed  me,  are  founded  on  facts  observed  by 
him,  and  give  a  picture  of  life  in  the  district  where  he 
was  born  and  where  he  spent  his  youth.  Ignorance, 
selfish  class  isolation,  and  resultant  social  helplessness, 
are  depicted  in  remarkable  relief  and  unsparingly.  There 
is  not  collective  intelligence  and  strength  enough  in 
Barania-Glova  to  save  Eepa's  wife  from  ruin  and  murder. 
Pan  Floss  is  driven  from  his  land  of  "Little  Progress" 
and  has  to  pay  for  Sroda's  oxen,  which  the  owner  himself 
turned  in  on  his  neighbor's  clover ;  since  Pan  Floss  is  a 
noble  and  Sroda  a  peasant,  the  latter  thinks  himself  justi- 
fied in  taking  what  he  can  from  the  noble  in  the  night  or 
the  daytime,  by  fair  means  or  foul.  Pan  Skorabevski 
has  no  wish  to  annoy  himself  in  aiding  peasants  ;  if  he 
wants  anything  from  them,  or  wishes  to  defend  himself 
against  them,  he  calls  in  Pan  Zolzik.  The  great  public 
forces  of  Barania-Glova  are  the  vile  Zolzik,  and  Shmul 
without  conscience.  Father  Chyzik,  the  priest,  consider- 
ing that  his  whole  business  is  with  another  world,  has 
no  thought  for  the  temporal  welfare  of  Repa's  wife. 


550  TRANSLATOR'S   NOTES. 

The  following  is  a  translation  of  most  of  the  names  in 
Charcoal  Sketches :  — 

Barania-Glova    ....  Sheep's  Head. 

Burak Beet. 

Krucha  Wola Brittle  will. 

Kruchek A  small  raven,  or  rather  a  rook. 

It  is  a  name   given  frequently 

to  a  dog. 

Lipa Basswood. 

Maly  Postempovitxi  .     .     .  Little  Progress. 

Oslovitsi Asstown. 

Repa Turnip. 

Shmul Samuel. 

Sroda Wednesday. 

White  Crawfish  ....  A  phrase  meaning  eggs. 

Zolzik Strangler. 

Zweinos  Two  noses. 


Tartar  Captivity  is  a  sketch  preliminary  to  "  With  Fire 
and  Sword."  Though  it  appears  as  a  fragment  of  a 
memoir,  it  is  an  original  production  written  by  Sienkie- 
wicz  in  the  style  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Here  the 
author  uses  for  the  first  time  the  two  main  historical 
elements  of  Polish  society :  nobility  and  the  Church. 
These  two  elements  were  raised  to  an  ideal  height  in 
the  Polish  mind.  Zdaniborski  was  a  noble  sincere  and 
naive,  who  considered  the  position  and  privileges  of  the 
nobility  to  be  as  sacred  and  inviolable  as  those  of  the 
Church ;  both  he  believed  to  be  the  direct  product  of 
God's  will. 

Mayors  of  the  air,  referred  to  in  Chapter  V.,  were  men 
appointed  to  keep  alive  fires  which  would  fill  the  air  with 
a  smoke  disagreeable  to  the  plague  or  pest,  and  prevent 
it,  or  rather  her,  from  approaching.  The  plague  or  pest 
in  the  popular  mind  was  represented  as  a  female  who 
went  around  killing  people. 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTES.  551 

On  the  Bright  Shore.  All  persons  who  have  read 
"Children  of  the  Soil"  will  remember  Svirski,  the  sym- 
pathetic artist  in  that  book ;  this  same  Svirski  is  the 
hero  of  the  present  narrative. 

That  Third  Woman.  In  this  narrative  the  only  char- 
acter needing  explanation  is,  I  believe,  the  minstrel. 
In  Little  Russia  and  the  Ukraine  the  minstrel  called 
"  Kobzar,"  from  kobza,  the  instrument  on  which  he  plays, 
and  also  "  Did  "  (grandfather),  because  he  is  generally 
old  and  sometimes  blind,  is  a  prominent  figure  to  this 
day.  In  centuries  past  he  played  a  great  part  by  rousing 
popular  feeling  and  carrying  intelligence  from  place  to 
place.  At  present  his  role  is  to  entertain  people  who 
wish  to  hear  either  what  the  minstrel  himself  improvises, 
or  the  ballads  of  that  region.  The  Duma,  or  ballad  of 
the  Ukraine,  is  famous. 

Let  Us  Follow  Him  was  written  somewhat  earlier  than 
"  Quo  Vadis,"  and  was  a  tentative  sketch  in  a  new  field, 
as  was  Tartar  Captivity,  which  preceded  "  With  Fire  and 
Sword." 


OPINIONS 

OF 

CRITICS    AND   WRITERS 

ON 

THE   NOVELS    OF    SIENKIEWICZ 

AND 

MR.  CURTIN'S    TRANSLATIONS. 


"Quo'Vadis." 

"  Of  intense  interest  to  the  whole  Christian  civilization.  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  Quo  VADIS."  A  Narrative  of  the  Time  of  Nero.  By 
HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ,  author  of  "  With  Fire  and  Sword," 
"The  Deluge,"  etc.  Translated  from  the  Polish  by  JEREMIAH 
CURTIN.  Crown  8vo.  Cloth,  $2.00. 

One  of  the  greatest  books  of  our  day.  —  The  Bookman. 

In  all  respects  a  surpassing  work  of  fiction.  —  New  York  Herald. 

His  understanding  of  the  Roman  heart  is  marvellous.  —  Boston 
Transcript. 

One  of  the  strongest  historical  romances  that  have  been  written  in  the 
last  half  century.  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

Absorbingly  interesting,  brilliant  in  style,  imposing  in  materials,  and 
masterly  in  their  handling. — Providence  News. 

The  portrait  of  Petronius  is  alone  a  masterpiece  of  which  the  greatest 
word-painters  of  any  age  might  be  proud. — Philadelphia  Church  Standard. 

A  book  to  which  no  review  can  do  justice.  A  most  noble  historical 
romance,  in  which  the  reader  never  for  a  moment  loses  interest.  — 
Detroit  Free  Press. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  books  of  the  decade.  It  burns  upon  the 
brain  the  struggles  and  triumphs  of  the  early  Church.  —  Boston  Daily 
Advertiser. 

With  him  we  view,  appalled,  Rome,  grand  and  awful,  in  her  last 
throes.  The  picture  of  the  giant  Ursus  struggling  with  the  wild  animals 
is  one  that  will  always  hold  place  with  such  literary  triumphs  as  that  of 
the  chariot  race  in  "  Ben  Hur."  —  Boston  Courier. 

The  world  needs  such  a  book  at  intervals,  to  remind  it  again  of  the 
surpassing  power  and  beauty  of  Christ's  central  idea.  ...  A  climax  [the 
scene  in  the  arena]  beside  which  the  famous  chariot  race  in  "  Ben  Hur  " 
seems  tame.  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

Every  chapter  in  it  is  eloquent  with  meaning.  .  .  .  The  feasting  at 
the  imperial  palace,  the  contests  in  the  arena,  the  burning  of  Rome,  the 
rescue  of  Lygia,  the  Christian  maiden,  —  will  hold  their  place  in  memory 
with  unfading  color,  and  are  to  be  reckoned  among  the  significant  tri- 
umphs of  narrative  art. —  The  Boston  Beacon. 

Without  exaggeration  it  may  be  said  that  this  is  a  great  novel. 
It  will  become  recognized  by  virtue  of  its  own  merits  as  the  one  heroic 
monument  built  by  the  modern  novelist  above  the  ruins  of  decadent 
Rome,  and  in  honor  of  the  blessed  martyrs  of  the  early  Church.  There 
are  chapters  in  "  Quo  Vadis  "  so  convincing,  so  vital,  so  absolute,  that 
by  comparison  Lew.  Wallace's  popular  book  seems  tinsel,  while  Ware's 
honest  old  "Aurelian"  sinks  into  insignificance.  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

2 


With  Fire  and,  Sword. 

The  only  modern  romance  with  •which  it  can  be  compared  for  fire,  sfrightli- 
ness,  rapidity  of  action,  swift  changes,  and  absorbing  interest  is  "  The  Three 
Musketeers'1'1  of  Dumas.  —  New  York  Tribune. 

WITH  FIRE  AND  SWORD.  An  Historical  Novel  of  Poland 
and  Russia.  By  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  Translated  from  the 
Polish  by  JEREMIAH  CURTIN.  With  photogravure  portrait  of 
the  author.  Crown  8vo.  Cloth,  $2.00. 

"  With  Fire  and  Sword  "  is  the  first  of  a  trilogy  of  historical  romances 
of  Poland,  Russia,  and  Sweden.  Their  publication  has  been  received 
throughout  the  United  States  by  readers  and  critics  as  an  event  in 
literature.  Action  in  the  field  has  never  before  been  described  in  any 
language  so  briefly,  so  vividly,  and  with  such  a  marvellous  expression 
of  energy.  The  famous  character  of  Zagloba  has  been  described  as 
"a  curious  and  fascinating  combination  of  Falstaff  and  Ulysses."  Charles 
Dudley  Warner,  in  "Harper's  Magazine,"  affirms  that  the  Polish  author 
has  in  Zagloba  given  a  new  creation  to  literature. 

Wonderful  in  its  strength  and  picturesqueness.  —  Boston  Courier. 

A  romance  which,  once  read,  is  not  easily  forgotten.  —  Literary  World. 

One  of  the  noblest  -works  of  historical  romance  ever  written.  —  The  Pilot. 

One  of  the  most  brilliant  historical  novels  ever  written. —  Christian  Union. 

A  tremendous  work  in  subject,  size,  and  treatment.  —  Providence  Journal. 

Not  a  tedious  page  in  the  entire  magnificent  story.  —  Boston  Home 
Journal. 

The  force  of  the  work  recalls  certain  elements  of  Wallenstein. — 
Boston  Journal. 

77ie  first  of  Polish  novelists,  past  or  present,  and  second  to  none  now 
living  in  England,  France,  or  Germany.  —  Blackwood's  Magazine. 

He  exhibits  the  sustained  power  and  sweep  of  narrative  of  Walter 
Scott  and  the  humor  of  Cervantes.  —  Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

The  word  painting  is  startlingly  like  some  of  the  awosome  paintings 
by  Verestchagin.  We  do  not  feel  over  bold  in  saying  that  some  of  the 
character-drawing  is  Shakespearian.  Where,  outside  of  Shakespeare, 
can  such  a  man  as  Zagloba  be  found? — Christian  Advocate. 

A  novel  that  like  Thackeray's  "Henry  Esmond"  or  Scott's  "Ivanhoe" 
can  be  returned  to  again  and  again.  —  Boston  Gazette. 

Such  a  writer  as  Sienkiewicz,  the  Polish  novelist,  whose  works  belong 
with  the  very  best  of  their  class,  and  who  has  a  kind  of  Shakesperian 
freshness,  virility,  and  power  of  characterization,  is  sufficient  to  give 
dignity  to  the  literature  of  a  whole  generation  in  his  own  country.  His 
three  novels  on  the  Wars  of  the  Polish  Commonwealth,  and  his  superb 
psychological  story,  "  Without  Dogma,"  form  a  permanent  addition  to 
modern  literature.  —  The  Outlook. 

3 


Tbe  Deluge. 

It  even  surpasses  in  interest  and  power  the  same  author's  romance  "  With 
Fire  and  Sword."  .  .  .  The -whole  story  swarms -with  brilliant  pictures  of 'war, 
and -with  personal  episodes  of  battle  and  adventure, —  New  York  Tribune. 

THE  DELUGE.  An  Historical  Novel  of  Poland,  Sweden, 
and  Russia.  By  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  Translated  from  the 
Polish  by  JEREMIAH  CURTIN.  A  sequel  to  "With  Fire  and 
Sword."  With  a  map  of  the  country  at  the  period  in  which 
the  events  of  "  The  Deluge  "  and  "  With  Fire  and  Sword " 
take  place.  2  vols.  Crown  8vo.  Cloth,  $3.00. 

"  The  wars  described  in  '  The  Deluge,'  "  says  the  translator,  "  are  the 
most  complicated  and  significant  in  the  whole  career  &f  the  Common- 
wealth." The  hero  of  the  book,  Pan  Andrei  Kmita,  is  delineated  with 
remarkable  power ;  and  the  wonderful  development  of  his  character  — 
from  the  beginning  of  the  book,  when  his  nature  is  wild  and  untamed, 
to  the  end,  when  he  becomes  the  savior  of  the  King  and  the  Common- 
wealth after  almost  unequalled  devotion  and  self-sacrifice — gives  this 
great  historical  romance  a  place  even  above  "  With  Fire  and  Sword." 

Wonderfully  vivid  and  life-like.  —  Congregationalist. 

Marvellous  in  its  grand  descriptions. — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

The  greatest  living  writer  of  the  romance  of  incident. — Boston  Courier. 

One  of  the  direct  anointed  line  of  the  kings  of  story-telling. — 
Literary  World. 

Has  the  humor  of  a  Cervantes  and  the  grim  vigor  of  Defoe.  —  Boston 
Gazette. 

A  really  great  novelist.  .  .  .  To  match  this  story  one  must  turn  to  the 
masterpieces  of  Scott  and  Dumas.  —  Philadelphia  Press. 


Pan  Michael. 

No  -word  less  than  "Excelsior"  -will  justly  describe  the  achievement  of  the 
trilogy  of  novels  of  which  "  Pan  Michael"  is  the  last.  — Baltimore  American. 

PAN  MICHAEL.  An  Historical  Novel  of  Poland,  Russia, 
and  the  Ukraine.  By  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  Translated  from 
the  Polish  by  JEREMIAH  CURTIN.  A  sequel  to  "With  Fire  and 
Sword  "  and  "The  Deluge."  Crown  8vo.  Cloth,  $2.00. 

This  work  completes  the  great  Polish  trilogy.  The  period  of  the 
story  is  1668-1674,  ar>d  the  principal  historical  event  is  the  Turkish  inva- 
sion of  1672.  Pan  Michael,  a  favorite  character  in  the  preceding  stories, 
and  the  incomparable  Zagloba  figure  throughout  the  novel.  The  most 
important  historical  character  introduced  is  Sobieski,  who  was  elected 
king  in  1674. 

4 


Pan  Michael  (continued). 


The  interest  of  the  trilogy,  both  historical  and  romantic,  is  splen- 
didly sustained.  —  The  Dial. 

A  great  novel.  It  abounds  in  creations.  It  is  a  fitting  ending  to  a 
great  trilogy,  —  a  trilogy  which  teaches  great  lessons.  —  Boston  Advertiser. 

May  fairly  be  classed  as  Homeric.  —  The  Boston  Beacon. 

There  is  no  falling  off  in  interest  in  this  third  and  last  book  of  the 
series ;  again  Sienkiewicz  looms  as  one  of  the  great  novel  writers  of  the 
world.  —  The  Nation. 

From  the  artistic  standpoint,  to  have  created  the  character  of  Zag- 
loba  was  a  feat  comparable  with  Shakespeare's  creation  of  Falstaff  and 
Goethe's  creation  of  Mephistopheles.  —  The  Dial. 


Without  Dogma. 

Emphatically  a  human  document  read  in  the  light  of  a  great  imagination.  — 
Boston  Beacon. 

WITHOUT  DOGMA.  A  Novel  of  Modern  Poland.  By  HENRYK 
SIENKIEWICZ.  Translated  from  the  Polish  by  IZA  YOUNG. 
Crown  8vo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

A  psychological  novel  of  modern  thought,  and  of  great  power.  Its 
utter  contrast  to  the  author's  historical  romances  exhibits  in  a  most 
striking  manner  the  remarkable  variety  of  his  genius. 

A  triumph  of  psychology.  —  Chicago  Times. 

A  masterly  piece  of  writing.  —  Pittsburg  Bulletin. 

Belongs  to  a  high  order  of  fiction.  —  Arew  York  Times. 

Intellectually  the  novel  is  a  masterpiece.  —  Christian  Union. 

Self-analysis  has  never  been  carried  further.  —  Colorado  Springs 
Gazette. 

Worthy  of  study  by  all  who  seek  to  understand  the  human  soul.— 
Boston  Times. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  works  of  modern  novelists.  —  Kansas 
City  Journal. 

Bold,  original,  and  unconventional,  and  displays  the  most  remarkable 
genius.  —  Boston  Home  Journal. 

In  her  beautiful  simplicity,  her  womanly  strength  and  purity,  the 
woman  stands  forth,  Beatrice-like,  in  strong  contrast  to  the  man.  —  Balti- 
more American. 

Both  absorbing  and  instructive.  Distinctly  a  notable  contribution  to 
the  mental  and  ethical  history  of  the  age.  —Boston  Courier. 

5 


Children  of  the  Soil 

A  great  novel,  such  as  enriches  the  reader's  experience  and  extends  his  mental 
horizons.  One  can  compare  it  only  with  the  great  fictions  of  our  great  day,  and 
in  that  comparison  find  it  inferior  to  very  few  of  the  greatest.  — W.  D.  HOWELLS 
in  Harper's  Weekly. 

CHILDREN  OF  THE  SOIL.  Translated  from  the  Polish  of 
HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ,  by  JEREMIAH  CURTJN.  Crown  8vo. 
Cloth,  $2.00. 

"  Children  of  the  Soil,"  a  novel  of  contemporary  life  in  Poland,  is  a 
work  of  profound  interest,  written  with  that  vividness  and  truthful  pre- 
cision which  have  made  the  author  famous.  The  great  question  of  the 
book  is,  What  can  a  good  and  honorable  woman  do  to  assist  a  man  in 
the  present  age  in  civilized  society?  The  question  is  answered  thor- 
oughly in  "  Children  of  the  Soil." 

A  work  of  the  very  first  order  .  .  .  which  posterity  will  class  among 
the  chefs-d' auvre  of  the  century.  In  this  romance  are  manifested  the 
noblest  and  rarest  qualities  that  an  author  can  possess :  a  wonderful 
delicacy  of  psychological  analysis,  an  incomparable  mastery  of  the  art 
of  painting  characters  and  morals,  and  the  rare  and  most  invaluable 
faculty  of  making  the  characters  live  in  the  printed  page. — Le  Figaro, 
Paris,  May  4,  1895. 

There  is  not  a  chapter  without  originality  and  a  delightful,  honest 
realism.  —  New  Haven  Evening  Leader. 

It  must  be  reckoned  among  the  finer  fictions  of  our  time,  and  shows 
its  author  to  be  almost  as  great  a  master  in  the  field  of  the  domestic 
novels  as  he  had  previously  been  shown  to  be  in  that  of  imaginative  his- 
torical romance. —  Chicago  Dial. 

Few  books  of  the  century  carry  with  them  the  profound  moral  sig- 
nificance of  the  "  Children  of  the  Soil,"  but  the  book  is  a  work  of  art 
and  not  a  sermon.  Every  page  shows  the  hand  of  a  master.  —  Chicago 
Chronicle. 

There  are  few  pages  that  do  not  put  in  an  interesting  or  amusing 
light  some  current  doctrine  or  some  fashion  of  the  hour.  —  New  York 
Critic. 

Not  only  as  a  finely  elaborated  and  manifestly  truthful  depiction  of 
contemporary  Polish  life,  but  as  a  drama  of  the  human  heart,  inspired 
by  the  supreme  principles  of  creative  art,  "Children  of  the  Soil"  is  de- 
cidedly a  book  to  be  read  and  lingered  over.  —  Boston  Beacon. 

It  is  a  book  to  sit  with  quietly  and  patiently,  to  read  with  conscience 
and  comprehension  awake  and  alert,  to  absorb  with  an  open  heart.  — 
Providence  News. 

This  is  a  narrative  long  but  full,  rich  in  vitality,  abounding  in  keen 
and  exact  characterization.  —  Milwaukee  Sentinel. 

6 


SHORT  STORIES  BY  SIENKIEWICZ. 

Yanko  tbe  Musician. 

His  energy  and  imagination  are  gigantesque.     He  -writes  prose  epics 

Chicago  Evening  Post. 

YANKO  THE  MUSICIAN,  AND  OTHER  STORIES.  By  HENRYK 
SIENKIEWICZ.  Translated  from  the  Polish  by  JEREMIAH  CUR- 
TIN.  With  Illustrations  by  EDMUND  H.  GARRETT.  i6mo. 
Cloth,  extra,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 

CONTENTS.  —  I.  YANKO  THE  MUSICIAN;  II.  THE  LIGHT-HOUSE 
KEEPER  OF  ASPINWALL;  III.  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  A  TUTOR  IN 
POZNAN  ;  IV.  A  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS,  A  SKETCH  OF  AMERICAN 
LIFE;  V.  BARTER  THE  VICTOR. 

A  series  of  studies  of  the  impressionist  order,  full  of  light  and  color, 
delicate  in  sentiment,  and  exquisite  in  technical  expression.  —  Boston 
Beacon. 

The  stories  are  deeply  intellectual.  —  Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

The  note  of  patriotism,  of  love  of  home,  is  strong  in  all  these  stories. 
Chicago  Figaro. 

Full  of  powerful  interest.  —  Boston  Courier. 

Models  of  simplicity.  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

The  simple  story  of  the  lighthouse  man  is  a  masterpiece.  — New  York 
Times. 

They  have  all  the  charm  of  the  author's  manner.  —  Public  Opinion. 

The  tale  of  Yanko  has  wonderful  pathos.  —  Chicago  Herald. 

Lillian  Morris,  and  Other  Stories. 

LILLIAN  MORRIS,  AND  OTHER  STORIES.  Translated  from  the 
Polish  of  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ  by  JEREMIAH  CURTIN.  Illus- 
trated by  EDMUND  H.  GARRETT.  i6mo.  Cloth,  extra,  gilt 
top,  $1.25. 

CONTENTS.  —  I.  LILLIAN  MORRIS  ;  II.  SACHEM  ;  III.  ANGEL  ; 
IV.  THE  BULL-FIGHT. 

The  reminiscence  of  Spain  which  describes  a  bull-fight  in  Madrid  is 
a  realistic  and  rather  brilliant  sketch,  —  one  of  the  most  effective  ac- 
counts of  the  Spanish  national  sport  one  is  likely  to  find.  —  Review  of 
Reviews. 

"Yamyol"  in  this  new  collection  is  written  with  awful  intensity  and 
marvellous  power.  This  little  tale  is  a  masterpiece  of  literary  work,  and 
its  effect  on  the  reader  extraordinary. 

All  the  stories  are  remarkable.  —  Literary  World. 

7 


Opinions  regarding  Mr.  Curtin's  Translations. 
9999999 

?  ^ave  rea(^  w'*h  diligent  attention  all  the  volumes  of  my 
™or&s  sent  me  (American  Edition).  I  understand  how  great  the 
difficulties  were  which  you  had  to  overcome,  especially  in  trans- 
luting  the  historical  novels,  the  language  of  which  is  somewhat 
archaic  in  character. 

I  admire  not  only  the  sincere  conscientiousness  and  accuracy, 
but  also  the  skill,  with  which  you  did  the  work. 

Your  countrymen  will  establish  your  merit  better  than  I ;  as 
to  me,  I  can  only  desire  that  you  and  no  one  else  should  translate 
all  that  I  write. 

With  respect  and  friendship, 

HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

The  translation  appears  to  be  faithful,  for  none  of  the  glow 
_,..j  and  vigor  of  the  great  Polish  novelist  are  missing,  and  the 

work  is  indeed  a  triumph  of  genius.  —  Chicago  Mail. 

Mr.  Curtin's  admirable  translation  of  this  brilliant  historical 
romance  may  be  said  to  have  taken  the  literary  critics  of  the 
day  by  storm.  —  Portland  Advertiser. 

Mr.  Curtin  deserves  the  gratitude  of  the  English-speaking 
public  for  his  most  excellent  and  spirited  translation.  We 
have  to  thank  him  for  an  important  contribution  to  the  number 
of  really  successful  historical  novels  and  for  a  notable  enlarge- 
ment of  our  understanding  of  a  people  whose  unhappy  fate 
has  deserved  the  deepest  sympathy  of  the  world.  —  Chicago 
Evening  Post. 

Mr.  Jeremiah  Curtin  shows  uncommon  ability  in  transla- 
tion ;  he  conveys  in  accurate  and  nervous  English  the  charm 
of  the  Polish  original,  frequently  exercising  much  ingenuity  in 
the  treatment  of  colloquial  idioms.  —  Literary  World. 

The  English-reading  world  cannot  be  too  grateful  to  Mr. 
Curtin  for  rendering  this  masterpiece  among  historical  novels 
into  such  luminous,  stirring  English.  He  has  brought  both 
skill  and  enthusiasm  to  his  work,  and  has  succeeded  in  giving 
us  a  thorough  Polish  work  in  English  dress.  —  Pittsburg 
Chronicle  Telegraph. 

Mr.  Curtin's  style  of  translation  is  excellent  and  apparently 
faithful,  and  he  is  entitled  to  the  thanks  of  the  English-reading 
public  for  revealing  this  new  and  powerful  genius.  —  Providence 
Journal. 

It  is  admirably  translated  by  that  remarkable,  almost  phe- 
nomenal, philologist  and  Slavonic  scholar,  Jeremiah  Curtin,  so 
long  a  resident  of  Russia,  and  at  one  time  secretary  of  legation 
there.  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

8 


Children 
of  the 
Soil. 


Short 
Stories. 


has  done  the  translation  so  well  that  the  pecu- 
liarities of  the  author's  style  have  been  preserved  with  great 
distinctness. — Detroit  Tribune. 

This  story,  like  its  predecessor,  has  been  translated  from 
the  Polish  by  Jeremiah  Curtin  in  a  way  that  makes  its  stirring 
or  delightful  scenes  appear  to  have  been  written  originally  in 
English.  —  Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle. 

Too  much  cannot  be  said  in  praise  of  the  conscientious  and 
beautiful  work  of  the  translator.  —  Chattanooga  Times. 

Of  Mr.  Curtin's  share  in  "  The  Deluge,"  there  are  no  words 
to  express  its  excellence  except  "  it  is  perfect."  Fortunate 
Mr.  Sienkiewicz  to  have  such  an  interpreter  1  Fortunate  Mr. 
Curtin  to  have  such  a  field  in  which  to  exercise  his  skill !  — 
Boston  Times. 

Mr.  Jeremiah  Curtin  has  accomplished  his  task  with  that 
sympathy  and  close  scholarship  which  have  always  distin- 
guished his  labors.  — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

The  translation  is  full  of  sympathy,  of  vigor,  and  of  ele- 
gance. The  translator  has  accomplished  the  difficult  task  of 
preserving  the  spirit  of  the  original  without  failing  in  the 
requirement  of  the  tongue  in  which  he  was  writing,  and  the 
result  is  a  triumph  of  the  translator's  art.  He  has  done  a 
great  service  to  the  English  reader,  while  he  has  at  the  same 
time  made  for  himself  a  monument  which  would  cause  his 
name  long  to  be  remembered,  even  had  he  no  other  claims 
upon  public  gratitude.  —  Boston  Courier. 

The  fidelity  of  Mr.  Curtin's  translation  to  the  original  can 
only  be  judged  by  internal  evidence.  That  would  seem  to  be 
conclusive.  The  style  is  vigorous  and  striking.  —  Cleveland 
Plain  Dealer. 

The  translation  is  quite  up  to  Mr.  Curtin's  excellence.  — 
Brooklyn  Eagle. 

Like  all  Mr.  Jeremiah  Curtin's  work,  the  translation  is 
excellent.  —  New  York  Times. 

Mr.  Curtin  has  made  his  translation  with  that  exquisite 
command  of  English  and  breadth  of  knowledge  characteristic 
of  him.  —  Boston  Beacon. 

The  translation  is  beyond  criticism.  —  Boston  Home  Journal. 

The  style  of  all  the  pieces,  as  Englished  by  Mr.  Curtin,  is 
singularly  clear  and  delicate,  after  the  manner  of  the  finished 
French  artists  in  language.  —  Review  of  Reviews. 

Mr.  Curtin  has  certainly  caught  the  verve  of  the  original, 
and  in  his  rendering  we  can  still  feel  the  warmth  of  the  author's 
own  inspiration.  —  New  Haven  Register. 

The  translation  from  the  Polish  of  all  of  Sienkiewicz's 
works  has  been  made  by  Mr.  Jeremiah  Curtin,  and  it  is  suffi- 
cient to  say  that  it  has  received  the  unqualified  praise  of 
scholars  both  in  this  country  and  in  England.  —  Boston  Home 
Journal. 


tf  (~)i/()  The  literary  world  is   indebted    to   Mr.   Curtin   for   his 

.  r  *Sr  •    »     admirable  work.  —  Milwaukee  Journal. 

V ddlS,  The  translation  is  aH  that  can  be  desired.     It  is  difficult  to 

conceive   that  the  book  can  be  more  effective  in  its  native 
tongue.  —  Cleveland  World. 

Mr.  Curtin  has  adequately  translated  the  complicated  plot, 
giving  full  scope  to  the  imaginative  qualities  of  the  author's 
genius.  —  Boston  Herald. 

Mr.  Curtin  in  his  translation  has  so  preserved  the  spirit  of 
the  original  that  in  his  English  version  almost  every  page  is 
eloquent  with  meaning. — Jersey  City  Journal. 

Mr.  Curtin's  translation  is  of  that  satisfying,  artistic  order 
that  one  always  expects  and  obtains  from  him.  To  the  reader's 
thought,  author  and  translator  are  one,  so  perfect  is  the  mutual 
understanding.  —  Boston  Ideas. 

It  is  a  good  deal  to  be  thankful  for  that  such  a  book  is 
made  into  the  English  language  ;  and  for  doing  that  so  famously 
well,  Mr.  Jeremiah  Curtin  is  entitled  to  the  blessings  of  a 
romance-loving  public.  —  Providence  Arews. 

Mr.  Curtin's  English  is  so  limpid  and  fluent  that  one  finds 
it  difficult  to  realize  that  he  is  reading  a  translation.  In  fact, 
it  is  so  perfect  that  one  never  thinks  about  it  until  he  has 
received  the  impression  which  the  author  intends  to  convey 
and  begins  to  ask  himself  how  the  impression  is  made.  Then, 
indeed,  he  perceives  that  he  owes  a  debt  not  only  to  the  author, 
but  to  the  translator  who  has  made  so  great  a  work  accessible 
to  him.  —  Philadelphia  Church  Standard. 

But  our  debt  to  Sienkiewicz  is  not  less  than  our  debt  to  his 
translator  and  friend,  Jeremiah  Curtin.  The  diversity  of  the 
language,  the  rapid  flow  of  thought,  the  picturesque  imagery 
of  the  descriptions  are  all  his.  The  purity  of  the  English,  the 
accuracy  of  abstract  expressions,  the  specific  apposition  of 
word  to  object  is  remarkable.  The  work  would  stand  alone  as 
a  model  of  English  prose,  and  might  well  be  read  with  profit 
merely  as  an  example  of  combined  narrative  and  description. 
Mr.  Curtin  has  done  good  work  before  in  his  translation  of 
Sienkiewicz;  he  has  surpassed  himself  in  his  Englishing  of 
"Quo  Vadis."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

No  brain  and  hand  were  better  fitted  by  nature  and  wide 
experience  to  assume  the  task  of  reanimating  the  work  of 
Sienkiewicz  into  English  than  those  of  Mr.  Curtin.  A  cosmop- 
olite, but  few  countries  in  the  world  have  escaped  a  prolonged 
visit  by  him,  and  indeed  he  is  the  complete  and  thorough 
master  of  seven  languages.  Thus  equipped,  and  unexcelled 
as  a  linguist  and  man  of  letters,  he  has  given  us  the  unsur- 
passed translation  of  "  With  Fire  and  Sword,"  "  The  Deluge," 
"  Pan  Michael,"  and  the  lesser  romances  of  Henryk  Sienkiewicz ; 
and  now  the  supreme  effort,  "  Quo  Vadis."  Here  is  a  trans- 
lation indeed!  —  Boston  Courier. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  COMPANY,  Publishers 
254  Washington  Street,  Boston 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

fiET'D  pftfThi^jooM  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


SEP  3  01969 


Book  Slip-25m-7,'61(C1437s4)4280 


707 


College 
Library 

PG 

7158 

S57hE 


001  133  042  o 


